


A place to belong

by Lebellerose



Category: The Voice (US) RPF, The Voice RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Attempt at Humor, Corny, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Build, af, cause i'm really bad at it, patience is key, this'll be a long ride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2018-07-26 04:52:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 51,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7561150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lebellerose/pseuds/Lebellerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adventures and genesis of "The Voice Circus", starring Adam as a juggler/contortionist and Blake as a beast tamer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Business Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> Fill in for the circus AU prompt on TheShevineProject tumblr.  
> I've found inspiration again :D! But I must warn you this will be a lenghty one, so fasten your seatbelts, or rather, bear with me.  
> I might touch up on this chapter later since I'm posting it quite sleepy at 2 am and so. I may or may not need beta readers :P.  
> As usual all events are fictional and no harm or slight is meant to the parties involved.  
> The tons of people I listed on the tags will be introduced eventually.

Carson Daly was a determined man. He believed in hard work and persistence in order to achieve your goals. He never rested 'till he got what he wanted. And never left anything to luck if he could help it. At 38 he already had all that most people desire out of life: an enjoyable and fulfilling career, a happy family, enough money and time to indulge in personal hobbies, miscelaneous or holidays. It was obvious he was a lucky man who lived his days in bliss. And quiet. But nothing in this world lasts forever.

One day, while he was working as usual, an old friend came knocking on his door. It was a clear morning, everything seemed to be running smoothly like always. The program had just gone on a 5 minutes break for commercials when an assistant entered the studio. Which wasn't all that uncommon, but Carson somehow felt something was about to happen.

"Mr. Daly, there's a man who wishes to speak to you in reception".

"Lydia, please tell him to wait, I'm in the middle of a program, as you already know", he said a bit annoyed.

"I'm sorry, he insists on seeing you. He told me to give you his name and that you'd understand", the woman responded dully.

"So, what is it?"

"Pharrell Williams".

Carson blinked, surprised. It'd been 15 years since he last heard of him. The man in question was a friend he met in his wild period, when he had been right out of highschool and had joined a circus partly to experience freedom but mostly to spite his father. Their relationship at the time was far from ideal, a little fractured indeed. Only recently they had been able to repair it. And it had taken a great deal of effort from both sides. He'd never forget the reaction his dad had had the moment he told him he wasn't going to college. Instead, he'd follow his current girlfriend into the life of an itinerant circus. Carson also remembered how he'd shouted that living in a circus would be such an amazing, freeing experience, he doubted if he'd ever return to California. That was a breaking point for them. Actually being in a circus had been difficult, nonetheless. He basically had no special talents or tricks to entertain the crowds, so he was entrusted with all the odd jobs left. Handing out flyers, cleaning -he especially hated doing the animals's cages-, cooking, fixing stuff, running errands, etc. At one point he served as treasurer for the owner, after forming part of the crew for a year. He had so many things to do, he was always tired. He even lost his lover in one town, where a young doctor got her pregnant. During that time, it had been Pharrell who consoled him. Carson felt no one cared for him, everyone apparently took his work for granted. In turn the other man showed him he was wrong, offered him true friendship. It was good for a while. Eventually, though, he left the circus. However much he liked watching the shows, sharing his days with his new "family", he was certainly worn out. So he called it quits. Had a heartfelt goodbye with all his colleagues and went his own way. He promised Pharrell to keep in tocuh, did it for some time. Two years after his departure he saw his friend again, only then he was travelling with another circus. They had talked for hours, laughed heartily about old memories and new ocurrences. Again they had vowed to stay connected. Life had different plams. Somehow their corrrespondence had stopped, buried beneath work and personal relationships. So 15 later his old friend wanted to talk to him once more.

"Mr. Daly?" The assistant looked at him with a mix of worry and irritation.

"I'm fine", he answered quickly, rearranging his clothes,"I'll meet with this man".

"What shall we do with the program, sir?"

"We have no choice. We'll cut it short. The breaks's almost over, I'll give some excuse as soon as we're back on air", he sentenced.

"The boss might not find that acceptable", she pointed.

"There's only 18 minutes left, I'm sure he can overlook this one irregularity. Plus he owes me extra hours from last month".

"Okay", the woman said, "I'll leave it in your hands".

Inmediately after she abandoned the room, the click-clack of her heels loud on the wooden floor.

 

\- - - - - -

 

Ten minutes later Carson was entering reception. The black man seating on one of the comfortable leather couches rose to his feet upon spotting him. 

"Carson, it's been an eternity!" Exclaimed Pharrell shaking his hand and giving him a quick hug.

"It's good to see you too, buddy", Carson responded smiling, "What brings you here?"

"Can't a man try to catch up with his pal?" Countered the other good-naturedly.

"Sure as hell you can. It's just, we haven't spoken in years".

"So your instincts are telling you I didn't come here solely to 'talk of the weather'?" Pharrell said wryly.

"Exactly".

"Well, you are right. I'm not here to chatt about the good old days. Although if you accept my proposal we'll do that sooner than later".

"Proposal?" Carson raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. I mean business. Something potentially big and juicy. I've a good plan to set in motion. Got the money and all. Just need a capable partner. I thought of you".

"Me? What do y...excuse me, Pharrell, what exactly is this plan you're talking about? What is it you want to acomplish?".

"It's simple. I want us to become the proud owners of our very own worldly famous circus".

He opened his eyes wide, mouth barely slack in shock.

"Why on earth would I do that?!" He spoke after a moment, "Of course you don't know it, but besides an stable job I have a family to maintain, I can't go out on a limb towards an uncetain promise of success".  
"I too have a lovely wife and kids. And I manage to support them quite fine. It's true you travel regularly with a circus. Yet you can live well. You already knew that".

"I've settled, okay? I'm done going from place to place. Not to mention we don't know if it's going to work. We both have witnessed many 'companies' fall apart in mere months, its acts desperately searching for a new patron. You don't need me to tell you how har it is to make it", he ranted, frustrated.

"Still, we have to try. This is one chance in a million, trust me. You won't regret it".

"I can't".

"Pleease, do me a favor this one time. It might not seem worth it now, but it will be in the end. I would never ask something impossible out of you. Okay, maybe my project is kinda crazy. And maybe all will blow up on our faces, but we can't know unless we try", Pharrell spoke like a football coach attempting to motivate his team during a particularly tough match.

Carson sighed.

"Let's say I agree, and keep it hypothetical, let's say I get on board with your designs, you still haven't told me much about waht it is you plan to do and what it is you want ME to do", he reasoned.

The other man smirked confidently. Damn. He looked like the cat who got the cream. Could it be he had fallen right into his old mate's trap?

"How about we go to a cafe?", said Pharrell.

"Why?"

"This is going to be a bit long of a story to tell standing".

 

\- - - - - -

 

"When you last saw me I told you I was with 'The Beautiful Machine', right?"

"Yes, 'cause Albert had finally managed to drive himself off of business. It made me sad, even if it was inevitable. He had always been bad at it, the poor man, much as he wanted to pretend being a great 'entrepreneur'", Carson took a big gulp of coffee. Ugh. Such a cheap thing rather deserved the name of filthy water, though. He grimaced. How could he have expected better of the tiny (and blatantly greasy and unkempt) coffe shop Pharrell had dragged him into? It was obvious the place had been chosen for its affordability , nothing else.

"You hepled him big time with accounting when you were with us. Your skills as treasurer saved us from bankrupsy more than once", added Pharrell.

"Is that what you want?" He questioned, "For me to administer the money?"

"Yes. You always were a diligent man, well organized and with his feet firmly planted on the ground. You are also a fast thinker amd have awesome social skills. It's something that's amazed me ever since we met. How you are able to empathize with people, relax them, easily gain their trust".

"Excuse me? If you haven't forgotten about it you are sort of a 'people charmer' yourself", Carson drew commas in the air with his fingers, "After all, it was YOU everyone called 'Magic Words', not me".

Pharrell gave out a loud chuckle before reponding with a sincere tone.

"True. But I'm just eloquent. What I meant is that you GET others, pal. You take the time to know them, understand them. Try to help them when you can, yet you are no doormat. You'd never let others step over you so they respect you".

"Why, thanks. All that flattering wont' get you far, however".

"I know. You are a shrew businessman too. A double threat, I must say. This all explains why I want you as my partner".

"As of right now I'm still out of the project".

"Let me convince you, then".

Carson cocked an eyebrow. Prepared himself for his friend's sales picth.

"Singing", he whispered instead.

"What?" It's not that he didn't hear, he just didn't understand what that had to do with anything.

"Singing", his mate repeated.

Carson stared at him pointedly, asking for elaboration.

"My idea is to have a circus where the acts may sing as well as display whichever ability it is they have".

At that he sputtered his coffee, looked at Pharrell like he was a loon. The man chuckled again.

"Honestly, I predicted that reaction from you. I admited before my plan was 'unoethodox', I did warn you".

"Not enough", he muttered under his breath.

"It's an idea I've had for a while. What could make my 'company' stand out from the competition? In the beggining I also didn't have faith in it. I thought something like that would only fail. It felt almost ridiculous", rumbled Pharrell more to himself than to him.

"What changed?" Carson asked.

"I did".

"You?"

"Exactly, me. I stopped daydreaming and told myself to go for the things I desired. Life's too short to waste it on ifs or maybes. I don't want any regrets when my old age comes. And you?" The black man's stare was inquiring.

"I'm really happy with my current life, thank you".

"You sure? You've everything you could possibly want? Being a radio host is truly your dreamjob?"

"Yes", his tone was dry.

Pharrel gave him a once over and then spoke.

"Don't get me worng. I believe you. I've heard your program and you sound pretty pleased about what you do. You clearly enjoy and take pride in it. But tell me, isn't there at least a minuscule part of you that misses the circus? I'ts true you left once because you felt it wasn't the life you wanted. In any case, can't you come back? Will you forever dismiss the thrill of a dangerous trick, the fear of everything going south, the relief of seeing the act pull through just fine, the unknown magic of it all?"

It may have sounded like a motivational speech, however Carson couldn't hepl but feel moved against his will. He was losing, it was obvious. From the moment he agreed to listen to his friend's reasons he was already setting himself for the fall.

"Be honest, say you don't love the circus anymore and I'll stop bothering you. Say: 'I'm done with any circus ever, not even if my children want to go will I step on one'. You do that and I leave. Simple", Pharrel made a long, dramatic pause before continuing, "Thing is, I know you enough to affirm you'd never speak such words. I can see that you love the circus. It overwhelmed you in the past, and yet it left and indelible imprint on you. No matter how bad you had it, if you've known the circus it stays forever in you heart".

"And I'm no exception to the rule?"

"That's right. So, please, listen to your soul", finalized the man".

"This whole thing still sounds like bullshit", he sighed, "Anyway, I guess I can't let you do this alone in the end".

Pharrell's smile was bright and big.

"I'm taking a great, no, huge risk helping you. So your 'little' project better pay off", Carson commented while taking a sip of his disgusting coffee.

"No worries, man. We'll make it. I'm sure".

"Hmmm".


	2. Herding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally posted the second chapter! I'm sorry for the delay but college was kicking my but and my muse was nowhere to be found. So I struggled with this one. It was supposed to be longer and include four "interviews". In the end I decided to split the chapter in two, so (virtual) cookies for those who guess the name of next chapter. The split is also the reason why you'll have to wait a bit more to see Adam and Blake ;P.  
> Also you may note that the first chapter was in past tense while this is in present tense. That is because the first one works as a sort of prologue, a sort of "before the main events of the story". From this chapter on is where the story really starts, hence the present tense from this point on.

"So this is our first stop?", Carson says turning his car to a halt.

"Mhm", responds Pharrell while unfastening his seatbelt and opening the passenger's door.

Before them stand numerous vehicules, some brand new, others not so much. There's also quite the variation in prices, Carson notes as he looks at the carboard rectangles that are stuck with tape to the windshields. And neither are them the onle clients there. Encouraged by the timid yet warm winter sun, many people have come to this establishment to purchase their personal tranporting machines. They are all closely followed by the salesmen (and the occasional saleswoman), who are in turn trying with everything they've got to persuade their customers to spend thier money. A few feet away a bald, slightly hunched man in his fifties is listing a detailed catalogue of features to a young couple with a baby, the object of their interest being a moderately large van. On the opposite direction, to their right, a suave guy of aproximately thirty years and change is sweetalking a group of girls -his chocolate hair carefully combed, and his choice of garment is a rather flamboyant floral suit-. Further on a woman with a short tight skirt and red lips is talking to a buff young chap, her fingers slidding down one of his toned arms while she leans over the hood of the sports car she is currently attempting to sell to her "admirer". "Typical", thinks Carson, as he and Pharrel make their way to the building on the other end of the rows of cars.

 When they get to their destination the duo is met with a big cristal door, the name of the agency painted on -overly- elegant golden cursive letters: "Green's Motors and Pipes". Below this sign, in a smaller, simpler font, reads: "It doesn't matter if you can't afford a Ferrari, our vehicules will get you there". Yeah, so they don't sell such expensieve cars. But where is "there"? What can it mean? Carson sighs. They enter a cozy recaption room with checkered floors, creamy walls and comfortable-looking armchairs. There's also two flower vases containing magnolias in the corners and a dark brown desk behind which a receptionist, a tan girl of little more than twenty, is taking a call. She seems rather uninterested in what she's hearing, twirling one strand of her already curly hair with her finger. Still, she's not making any effort to end the convversation either. Their best option is to sit and wait.

"'Kay, I'll see you later, Harry", the girl spews suddenly, hanging the phone.

The two straighten out in the armchairs, ready to stand. However, the receptionist motions with her hand for them to remain seated.

"I take it you want to speak to the boss?" She asks amicably.

They nod and she continues.

"Names, please. I'll see if he can receive you".

"Carson Daly and Pharrell Williams", the latter says.

At that the girl raises from her chair and disappears through a door on her left.

\- - - - - - -

Almost a quarter of an hour later the receptionist is back. She is holding some document in her arms, which she deposits on the desk. The door has been left open like an invitation. Maybe it's a signal that they should step in. Maybe.

"Well?" The girl inquires after five awkward minutes.

"What?" Carson stammers.

"I thought you two wanted to talk to Mr. Green. He'll have you now. Down the corridor, third door to your right", she says taking a seat and directing her attention to the papers she's just brought.

The duo finally stand up, walk to the threshold. They close the door leaving the distinct sound of tiping behind. In front of them there is a long narrow hallway, with several doors on both sides. All of them seem to be equal in size, except the one belonging to the office of the person they seek. Which is this huge, imposing, double pannelled scarlet monster. There's a golden plaque next to it, sporting the name of the man in question: Cee lo Green. The friends give each other a quick glance before Pharrell knocks on the door.

"Come in", a cheerful low voice replies.

They do as told. What greets them is one of the most -if not THE most- unconventional offices they have ever seen. And considering they've worked in a circus, that's saying a lot. First thing that catches their eyes -and there's a whole lot to look at, mind you- is a llama, placidly munching on some tulips in a large purple vase on one corner of the room. Yellow tulips. Not far from it, a bit to the side, a pig is resting on a bubblegum pink velvet armchair. The other part of the twin set is on the opposite side of the room, occupied by a spotted Great Dane, whose tongue is hangin happily from its mouth. The white walls are chock full with different paintings and tapestries, so much so that you have to strain your sight to indeed be able to figure out the colour of the wall paint. Meanwhile the floor is covered by a soft purple rug. However, the center piece has to be the great ebony desk, and the black man sitting behind it. He's wearing a red leather jacket with black patches and a black undershirt. Also dark sunglasses. Besides having a cockatoo with salmon coloured feathers perched on his right shoulder and a white fluffy cat on his lap. He sure seems to love his animals.

"Please, come in, come in", the man beams upon seein them. "Take a seat", he points to the pink sofa facing the desk. They oblige.

"So Pharrel and Carson, what can I do for you?" Cee lo asks.

"We are here to discuss what I talked to you about the other day", prompts Pharrell.

"Oh, yes, I remember. You wanted to create a singing circus, is that right?"

"Yes".

"It sounds like a grreat idea", Cee lo rolls his rs in excitement, "If I can help in any way, well, don't hesitate to tell me, brother".

"Actually, there is something that comes to mind", Pharrell simulates being in deep thought.

"Is it money?"

"No".

"Sponsoring, then? 'Cause you're gonna need it at first and my bussiness has been doing really well lately. We've already got some reputation here in L.A.", the president of the sales car agency replies, a little smugness in his tone.

Oh, boy is he up for a surprise, Carson thinks.

"I believe you do. But that's not exactly what we want from you. Though having your company as sponsor would be a nice bonus".

Cee lo looks puzzled.

"We were thinking you could be one of the acts", Pharrel states.

"Me?", the chubby man points at himself in disbelief, "You can't be serious".

"I am. The director of 'The Beautiful Machine' told me you used to be their strongman before you left chasing a woman from another circus".

"Don't remind of her!" Cee lo groans pitifully.

"Sorry if I rubbed salt on an old wound. But the thruth is we need you. I saw you once, you were amazing".

"I'm not amazing anymore. Look at me!" Cee lo's a bit more composed now, while still sounding sad, "I'm out of form, and I've abandoned the daily practice. I don't think I could lift much now."

The man certainly looks beaten and Carson sympathizes with his feelings. He himself had his doubts about returning to the circus lifestyle.

"That doesn't mean it always has to be this way", Pharrell comforts him, "You can regain what you lost. Let us help you".

"Don't think I haven't tried. I just can't get back on my feet. It's too hard now that I'm older", Cee lo offers with a half grin.

"C'mon, man. One last try won't hurt you".

"Sure it will. My doctor has made it clear to watch out for my spine. Next time I could really fuck it up, he said".

"Next time? Have you had an injury before?", Carson chimes in. He worries the situation is rapidly going south.

"I have, but i'ts a long story. I'll tell you on another opportunity", Cee lo explains.

For a moment silence takes over the room. Each man is pondering their options, which course of action to follow. At last, Pharrell sighs and speaks.

"If you feel you can't do it, I won't force you".

"Is that alright? Didn't you say you needed me?" Cee lo sounds doubtful.

"Of course we need you. You don't know how much we do. Not only because of your strength, but for your voice".

"Eh?"

"Did you forget?We are searching for acts who can sing. You can. In no other way could that advertisement have been made. That's how this car bussiness of yours became popular in the first place. With that jingle".

"You've studied me well", Cee lo simply comments.

"The least I could do to get you on board", Pharrell shurgs, "Is it working?"

"It might", the man's petting his cat lazily. It's in this instant Carson knows exactly where things will go.

"What would?" His friend bargains.

"Umm, I won't ask for much. First, I want my own trailer, a big one. Can produce it if you like".

"Done".

"And I'll need a personal trainer, someone young, preferably female, who can patiently and sweetly help me become fit again".

"I know the right person".

"And I get to continue with my job as the president here. You understand I cannot abandon my employees so suddenly. This is a company I started on my own, after all. I cannot part with it just like that. All the more when we don't know if 'that kind of circus' is going to succeed".

"Sure, I wasn't going to demand something that extreme from you anyway. Anything else?"

"No. Not for now".

"Do we have a deal then?"

"Deal", says Cee lo as he offers Pharrell his right hand, rising from his chair with the cat in his other arm and the cockatoo still on his shoulder. So thay shake hands over the desk, sealing the start of a partnership. Both are smiling widely.

"I knew I could count on you", Pharrell sentences.

"You mean you knew you could convince me", the other man counters. "Did he do the same to you?" Now he is talking to Carson.

"Yeah. Only it was worse because he used the power of nostalgia and cheesy motivational speeches".

"Nostalgia?"

"We were in he same circus. Became friends and all. I ended up leaving for personal reasons, but destiny had other plans aparently", the radio host sighs, "Cue this fella showing up at my work intending to make me part of his schemes".

"Haha, it was unavoidable, huh?" Cee lo chuckles.

"Pretty much".

The three of them laugh a little at that. Pharrell is indeed a persistent man.

"I think we should be leaving, got more people to rope into this mess today", Carson's looking at his watch, wondering if they'll have enough time to meet everyone they've planned to.

"I just need to ask Cee lo something else before we go", his friend tells him and then turns to the salesman, "Do you happen to know a good funambulist? An aquaintance of mine said you are pals with a nice blonde tightwire-walker".

"Damn. You really did your homework, didn't you?"

"One's never too prepared. Besides, we need talented acts if we are going to see this through".

"It's fine. I get you, brother. I would've done the same if I were you. Anyway, I'll write Christina's number for you. Hope she's free to get together with you. It's almost midday so you may be lucky", Cee lo is sifting among the papers on his desk to find a blank one.

"Wouldn't her adress be useful too?" Carson questions.

"Not in this case", Cee lo answers while scribbling numbers on a note pad.

"Why?"

"She hates when people drop off at her place without warning. If you do that she'll just ignore you 'till you scram. Or call the cops".

"This is gonna be difficult, isn't it?"

"Yup", Pharrell agrees.

\- - - - - -

 

"Tell me if I've got this right. You want ME to join you circus/chorus?" The beatiful funambulist says crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. She looks terribly unconvinced, about to give them the boot, actually. Her blue eyed gaze feels icy on Pharrel and Carson's skins.

"I know it sounds crazy, Ms Aguilera, but hear us out", the latter argues.

"We are offering you the chance of being part of something unique", adds Pharrell.

"Oh, really?" She shoots back with a humourless grin.

"Of course..." Pharrell begins yet is interrupted by Christina.

"Because I don't have time for games or experiments". Her tone is matter of fact, if a tad harsh. No doubt she doesn't possess a lot of patience, since they've been in her apartment for less than fifteen minutes and she's already started to get moody. She had sounded fine on the phone, so the duo took it as a good sign. It is now they realize how wrong they were.

"Ms Aguilera, you can be sure we are trying to do no such things. This is an outrageous albeit serious project. And I know that way of putting it is exacly what worries you. Hell, it worried me when this guy here", Carson nods to his friend, "came to my door to ask me to particpate. I was also tempted to say no, but I decided to take a chance in the end. For I believe this will be worth my while". He hopes this tidbit of empathy will soften her up a little.

"I understand what you mean", she utters finally, "And I cannot say your proposal doesn't sound interesting..." she is carefully choosing her words, maybe unsure as to how to convey her negative in a definite way that doesn't seem inflammatory. It is possible she has had trouble voicing her thoughts in the past.

"But?" Pharrell assists. Her instinctive reaction is to glare at him yet she controls herself.

"The problem is I cannot afford the luxury of uncertainty right now. Life's been pretty rough for me this last year and I'd appreciate it if you guys just backed off". For all that she'd appeared strong and fiercely opinionated when the two friends arrived, in this moment she looks like the tired -but still gorgeous- petite woman she probaly is in reality. However, it is only for a instant that she is vulnerable. The next second she rearrenges a fallen strand of hair from her impeccable ponytail and reverts back to distrustful/defensive mode.

"Won't you at least consider it?" Carson tries. He also tries to put as much sincerity in his eyes as possible. Usually this kind of gaze produces highly satisfactory results, for honesty is quite the appealing quality to human beings. Especially those who have a hard time confiding in others. If it seems a bit of a dirty trick to pull, it's because it is. And the radio host can normally afford to be less manipulative than right now, he tries not to abuse his "gift" that is. But alas, today's client is more troubling than average.

"Why should I?" Christina simply states, "Isn't it better I reply now so you can go search for another funambulist?". She obviously has a distaste for run-arounds which is only driving matters to a frustrating standstill, if not leading them down the path of failure.

"You are completely right, Ms Aguilera", Pharrell starts, ready to bring his A game, "You are a sensible woman, you prefer to call it like it is instead of deceiving us with false promises. We appreciate your honesty a great deal. The thing is, even if your financial situation is currently far from ideal, you DID show an interest in our job offer, did you not?"

"Well, that's true..." the man doesn't let her protest, the flow of the conversation completely in his hands.

"In that case may I be so bold as to assume you wouldn't, given the right cirscumstances, dislike the idea of joining our 'company'?"

"No, I wouldn't exactly be opposed to it but..." she is interrupted again.

"Then, what if matters changed for the better? What if you could work through enough of you financial problems to make it viable for you to take a risk on us? After all, the grand opening of the circus is aproximately two months from now. Anything could happen 'till then and we'll hold on for you to the last second. So you have some time to think about this. What I mean is, can you wait a little before you give us your definite answer?"

Christina stares at Pharrell and Carson for a good five minutes and sighs, slouching her shoulders in defeat.

"Fine", the funambulist says, reluctance clear in her voice, "I'll give it some thought. Now, I'll ask you two to leave. I have work in half an hour and I need to get ready".


	3. Herding continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally we meet our boys ;).

It is around 3:30 pm, after a hurried lunch, that Pharrell and Carson arrive to their following destination of the day, a decent looking-enough hotel in downtown L.A. The building looks rather old and small compared to the taller and newer ones surrounding it, still, thanks to regular maintenance most likely, keeps an air of glamour. As the duo enters the modest yet exquisitely furnished foyer, with its soft carpeted floors and bright wooden surfaces, they find it unsurprisingly vacant. Only the desk clerk and a middle-aged couple registering at right about that moment are there. They wait patiently until the clerk finishes attending the guests, handing them the keys to their room and wishing them a pleasant stay. Then they approach him.

"Excuse me, good afternoon, my name is Carson Daly and this is Pharrell Williams", the radio host gestures to his friend, "We had an appointment with Mr. Shelton and Miss Lambert from room 4A?"

"Let me see", the man answers monotone and proceeds to sift through the pages of a big red book. He flips the paper at an amazing speed, so used to the task his movements are close to automatic. He stops a little past the middle of the thick volume and contemplates an almost unreadable scribbled note at the bottom of the page for a second.

"Certainly, gentlemen. Follow me, I'll guide you to the room", the clerk says. He gives them no time to argue, rising from his seat and heading for the hallway with a couple strides. The duo follows him hurriedly, catching up as he begins to climb up a staircase on their right.

As they go up they deplore the building's lack of an elevator, given the vigorous -frantic- pace of the clerk. They reach the forth floor a bit out of breath, still one or two steps behind their "guide". Before them is a fairly narrow corridor with four doors. The first one on the left is the one they want: 4A. Of course the clerk is the first of the three to get there and knock.

"Mr. Shelton, Miss Lambert? Your guests are here", he says.

As Pharrell and Carson get to the threshold, the door opens. They are greeted by a pretty blonde woman in a light blue shirt matching her eyes, and dark fitted jeans that hug her curves just right. Her slightly round face and kind smile only make her look like the prototypical southern belle.

"Hellow, Mr. Humphrey, it's a nice day, isn't it? Thanks for granting us this little favor", she adresses the hotel employee.

"You have nothing to thank me for, Miss Lambert. It is part of my job to attend to your requests. Here you have them, Mr. Daly and Mr. Williams", the man introduces the duo.

"Hey, so nice to meet ya'll, I'm Miranda", the woman extends a hand to Carson and Pharrel, who shake it in turns as they say a brief hi. Next she invites them in as the clerk retreats goes back to work. The room may be on the small side but it is made cozy by the warm pallette of colours and comfortable, vintage,- though sparse- furniture. As it stands, there's only a double bed, a medim sized bureau, a coffe table and a couch. Plus a flat screen opposite the bed, the sole nod to the passing of time.

Just as the two friends wonder where is their other host, the bathroom door is opened by the tallest man they have ever seen. He appears to be close to seven feet, all long limbs and broad shoulders; even if the effect is dulled due to the guy's unassuming posture. He too is wearing jeans, hands resting in the front pockets. On the top he has a plaid shirt, which sleeves have been rolled up, emphasizing his toned arms covered in scars. There's a tattoo of barbwire and deer thracks in the left one. Again, he could appear imposing, if only he wanted to. He has an affable look in his deep blue eyes as he studies his visits. Finally, he extends his hand as well.

"Glad ya'll could make it, I'm Blake", the man speaks good-naturedly.

"No, we are glad you received us", the radio host is the first to meet the handshake, "I'm Carson".

"Pharrell".

"Why don't we all have a seat?" Miranda chimes in after the men have finished greeting. "We'll take the bed so ya'll can sit on the couch".

The duo accept their hosts' offer and plop down on the couch. They exchange a glance before starting, deciding Carson will talk first. And he opens his mouth, but Blake is faster.

"So what is it ya'll want? Over the phone you", he points to Carson with his chin, "said ya'll wanted to do bussiness with us, am I right?"

Blake cut straight to the point, which makes it easier, honestly.

"You are right. We want you two to work for us".

"And what kinda job is it? Better be something good, 'cos we are sorta busy at htis point", Blake states calmly.

"I know, my contact told me you both were working for the zoo, and that you may not be here for much longer. It'd be incovenient if you left, so we are here to convince you not to go. We believe you'll be interested in our offer".

"Well, shoot", Blake prompts.

"This was originally Pharrell's idea, so I'll let him explain", Carson decides to cop-out in the end, knowing his friend is arguably more invested in the project and will thus be able to sell it better than him. Pharrell just shakes his head at him, a bit exasparated, but more amused than anything.

"Since the baton has been passed to me, I'll tell you what this is all about. We are currently in the process of recruiting acts for the circus we propose to create. Nothing new, really. New companies are born everyday. To make them last and grow in popularity is the tricky part, as I assume you both know very well. Another thing we heard is that you two quit woking for circuses a while back, though we weren't informed why. And, since we want you to be part of our circus, your reluctance to involve yourselves with one could be a problem".

Now it is Miranda and Blake that look at each other. It seems they don't know how to respond. Maybe matters are a tad worse than Pharrel and Carson initially believed.

"It's a real surprise ya'll want us in ya'll's circus", Blake starts after a few uncomfortable minutes, "With all the animal regulations there are now many just don't bother with tamers like us".

"That's why we've been only working at the zoos and some variety shows", continues Miranda, "We've had it kinda tough geting jobs these last four years. We've managed alright, though I wish we didn't have to part with our circus in the first place".

"What happened?" Inquires Pharrel.

Miranda blushes slightly before answering.

"Long story short, we were kicked out 'cos we fell in love with each other".

"Did the company have a policy against dating your coworkers? I would've thought no circus owner cared about their acts' personal lives as long as it didn't affect their work", Carson comments puzzled.

"Well, this one did care, I 'stole' his daughter's man after all", Miranda wrings her hands, a little defiance in her stare.

PharreLl and Carson's eyes open wide.

"It sure sounds way worse than it was said like that", the blonde adds, "But it's how she saw it. She and Blake were married when I joined the circus, and before long he and I had fallen in love".

She turns to smile at her partner, intertwining her left hand with his, a silver band on her ring finger.

"Kanyette, my ex-wife, and I had been having trouble in our relationship for a while by the time I met Miranda, so it wasn't like anyone stole anything. My feelings just changed, end of the story", Blake declares earnestly.

A brief yet tense silence follows. The conversation has gone splendidly astray and neither Carson nor Pharrell know how to reel it back in. They honestly weren't expecting that TV drama confession out of their first chat with the couple of tamers.

"For the record", Miranda disrupts the quiet,"we are very interested in ya'lls' proposal. Having an 'stable' job would be a great help".

"Really?" Carson questions.

"Of course. We didn't leave the circus life 'cos we didn't like it".

"That's great", Pharrel recovers from his momentary stupor, ready to "attack" again, "So up until this point you'd be in on the project?".

"Yeah", the couple says in unison.

Pharrell's smile widens. This is the moment he's been waiting for. When all cards will be put on the table.

"I'm thrilled you are on board, because there's a tiny detail I forgot to mention".

Blake and Miranda look at him questioningly.

"Ours will not be the average circus. We've been searching all around for incredible talent, masters in their respective disciplines. And while the two of you certainly are masters, you also possess a talent we covet in our acts: an amazing voice. You see, our circus won't be another run of the mill, its performers will be singers as well as awesome at what they've been trained to do".

For a second the revelation has the tamers slack-jawed.

"Is this a joke?" Blake comes to the first.

"No, we are dead serious here", Carson sentences.

"Why would ya'll want to do that?" Miranda frowns. "It sounds like a gimmick".

"I don't see the problem, a circus thrives on gimmicks", counters Pharrel.

"Yeah, but those are tricks people actually want to watch", Blake says in a negative tone.

"And how would you know they wouldn't want to see an spectacle such as the one we propose? It's not as if a similar thing hasn't been done in the past. Circuses having their performers sing as part of their routines isn't unheard of", Pharrell insists.

"You may be right", Miranda points, "still would people pay to hear us? We do a couple shows from time to time but we ain't nothing special".

"We've been told the opposite, that you have strong, beautiful voices", Carson tries.

Miranda shakes her head.

"There's many voices like ours".

"Exactly, having a good voice don't mean it's unique. We've both tried our luck in the Nashville scene and were told the same thing: that singers like us are a dime a dozen", Blake adds melancholic.

"The uniqueness of your voices is debatable. We haven't heard you perform, but we trust our contact where music quality is concerned since he's a producer at a recording company. And he's been very successful too. He liked you two a lot, and he's a hard man to please. He was actually surprised you didn't have a recording contract, that people in Nashville were stupid enough to pass up on you guys. Well, we aren't as stupid and are offering you the chance to make it big", Pharrell rants, the living example of persistency.

"You say we'll make it big but you don't know if your circus will succed", Miranda says, cautious.

"That's true", Carson concedes, "it could all blow up in our faces in a question of months. It could. Even so, I think this project is worth a shot. When everything is said and done, what would the two of you really lose if you join us and the company fails spectacularly? Not much, to be honest. It'd be another of the many temporary gigs you've been doing up until now".

The blonde still seems dubious after Carson's comment, however her partner appears to be resolved. Although whether that is good or bad news for them is yet to be seen. They pray it's the former of the options.

"Fine, I'll do it", Blake says resolutely, effectively capturing everyone's attention.

"You will?" Pharrel's tone is hopeful.

"Are you sure, honey?!" Miranda exclaims at the same time, clearly shocked by the turn of events.

"They are right, Ran", her lover attempts to appease her, "how bad can it be? At worst the gig'll last two months, at best years. We lose nothing by trying".

Miranda bites her lip, glaring at Blake like he just betrayed her. Like he's gonna make her do something amazingly stupid 'cos she loves him and doesn't want to see him dive into the mess alone. Carson feels for her, he's been in those shoes before.

"I, sigh, I guess I'll do it it too", she finally surrenders.

"Excellent", Pharrell beams. He and Blake shake hands again and smile brightly, beginning to get along. The blonde tamer gazes at them, resigned to her fate, Carson pats her lightly on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, if things go wrong we'll pay we'll pay you accordingly", he reassures her, "We'll make it worth your while as long as you're with us".

"Promise?"

"Promise".

 

\- - - - - -

 

It is 6:50 and the sun is alrady starting to set when the duo reach the warehouse turned gymnasium. Their last destination today. Thanks God, huffs Carson. It has been an exhausting day and he can't wait to go home. On the other hand, Pharrell is still energetic and cheery as he knocks on the front door. A loud "come in!" is heard from the other side, so they turn the pommel and enter. The place is much bigger than it looks from the outside and is basically divided in two spaces. One contains the kitchen, a sink, a cupboard and a litle table with four chairs, and at the same time heaps of equipment in a corner; like diabolos, hoops, darts, balls of all sizes and materials, silks, wires, ropes, knives, bars, sticks, poles, etc. The other acts as a training room, with matt covered floors, a wire tied close to the cieling, more equipment scattered all about, and a wooden board placed against a wall which three people are gathered around. They are a woman and two men. The woman is sitting crossed-legged on the side drinking something from a cup. She has curly blonde hair, a sweet smile and vivacious dark eyes. She's wearing long black leggins and a white t-shirt. The men are practicing knife-throwing. The thrower is a middle-sized short haired black man with muscular arms wearing a gray shirt and red sewatpants. He is incredibly dexterous, each knife he flings to the board perfectly outlining the other man, who is the target. This other man is a few inches taller, his lithe body resting calmly on the wood. He has dark brown hair and hazel eyes that would look almost bored if they weren't alert to the movements of his partner's hands and the trajectory of the knives he's throwing. Apart from the blue sweatpants, he's wearing a black tank top which shows off the multiple tattoos he has on his arms, and chest -there may be some on his back-. The woman is the first to adress them.

"Oh, hi!" She waves at them. "We were waiting for you two". She has a rather strong accent confirming her status as foreigner as the information they'd been given said. She is Colombian all right.

"Hi", Carson and Pharrell answer.

"I think we're on time", the latter adds.

Both the thrower and target stop the practice and welcome them with a friendly "hey".

"I don't have my watch on, but judging by the light I'd say you are right", the blonde agrees standing up and coming to greet them the first.

"I'm Shakira, it's a pleasure to meet you", she beams offering her hand.

"I'm Pharrell".

"I'm Carson."

They shake her hand in turns. Then the other two men catch up after retrieving the knives from the board, and they offer their hands as well.

"I'm Usher".

"I'm Adam".

Once the introductions are over they all move to the table to have a more comfortable discussion. Shakira volunteers to prepare coffee for everyone, save her and Adam, who will drink tea. Before anyone can sit, though, Carson points that there are four chairs and they are five, thus prompting Usher to offer Shakira his when she's done preparing the beverages.

"You're such a gentleman", Pharrell praises Usher with a smile.

"Sure he is", Adam snickers, "They are dating".

Shakira blushes instantly and turns to focus on getting the drinks ready, while Usher scratches the back of his head and diverts his gaze from Adam's teasing eyes.

"So", Carson interrupts the awkwardness, "I bet you three want to know what kind of job it is we contacted you about".

"Of course, that's the point of this reunion", Usher recovers his composed attitude.

"I think I have an idea", Adam follows. His expresion has also reverted to calm.

Pharrell and Carson look at each other. This time they decide to cut to the chase. Lay it all straight and simple.

"We are setting up a new circus to be inaugurated two months from now, in March. The catch is that we are serching for acts who can sing", declares the former.

The loud whistle of the kettle swells and echoes throughout the whole building in the momentary silence. Five second pass. Then the spell is broken.

"What?!" Usher's startled. That surely came from the left field for him.

"A singing circus is a peculiar idea", Shakira expresses on her way to the table, balancing a tray with all their drinks. She distributes the cups to each person, and her boyfriend honors his promise to give her his chair.

"It sounds kinda interesting", Adam gives his two cents, shrugging.

"I'll admit it does", the petite blonde woman muses.

Usher looks at his friends like they were crazy. Is he the only one that doesn't see the appeal in such a thing?

"Okay, let's hold it a minute, right here. To begin with, you offer us a job in your circus/choir/whatever, but have you heard us sing? Even once?", he states.

It's obvious he believes the answer will be no. Boy, is he wrong.

"Actually we have", Carson responds matter of fact. He'd throw in a smile if he wasn't so tired already.

"You have?"

"Of course, it's only natural we'd do a little research on you all. The contact that gave us your number also showed us a video of a show you did at a bar about a month ago", Carson continues.

"Plus individual videos of each of you", Pharrell completes, grinning, "Your voices are great and unique, not to mention you are extremely talented at what you do. You'll fit right in the circus we want to create".

"Still, I'm not convinced", Usher's not ready to give up.

"Doesn't a stable job sound nice though? Given your current financial situation", Carson asks.

Usher tenses at hearing that.

"Are you thrying to thr...?" He is stopped by Shakira who caresses his arms, wordlessly telling him to ease up. However, she's also not smiling.

"You came prepared", she says frowning, "And it's true money's been tight lately. But that is none of your bussiness".

"What Shakira means is that we aren't desperate, or bankrupt, yet", Adam helps, "We can afford to reject your proposal if we feel like it".

"That's alright. Although we'd love for you to join us, we won't force you or anything. You don't even have to decide now. We can give time to think it through", Pharrell tries to smooth the tension out. He shoots a glare at his friend. His impatience and tactlessness have put in risk the result of this endeavor. Carson ducks his head, knowing he made a potentially serious mistake. They really wanted to get these people on board and he may have ruined it. God, he hopes he didn't.

"We...we can think aboit it?", Shakira utters timidly after a minute. She seems to have calmed down, yet feels somewhat reticent still.

"Sure, you have our number, you can call us whenever", Pharrell smiles reassuringly.

"I don't need to think it about it", Adam sentences suddenly.

"W-what do you mean?" Carson's alarmed. Is it already over?

"I'm saying I'll do it".

"Eh?!" The other four cry out completely taken by surprise.

"Are you serious?" Usher questions inmediately after in disbelief.

"Why not?" Adam shruggs again. "We might not be broke just yet, but we could use a job like this if they're gonna pay us well. We wont' be able to be picky for much longer".

"It's not being picky, it's having dignity", Usher insists. By the way he phrases it you'd think Pharrell and Carson offered him a job as cleaner, or someone who runs errands; that is the lower spots in the hierarchy of the circus.

"And people say I'm the diva", Adam shakes his head.

"Adam's right, Ush", Shakira turns to her boyfriend, "You're being unreasonable here. It doesn't sound like a bad job, just unusual".

"So you want to do it too?", the man shoots back indignant.

"Yes. I don't get why you're so against this?", the petite woman seems exasperated.

"I'd like to know that too", Pharrel cuts in, "We'll guarantee all of our acts a generous income, and the actual work won't be much different than normal, only some singing thrown in. I wouldn't think that sounds that crappy of a deal".

"It's not that, it's..", Usher stops, sighs, and continues, "complicated".

"How so?" Carson wonders.

"I'm talking if things go wrong; I've spent years building my reputation here in L.A., you see, I don't want it all to disappear in a few months. It cost me a lot time and effort to make it where I'm at, and I won't become the laughingstock that easily", he explains.

"So you believe our circus will crush'n burn dragging everyone involved with it?"

"Most likely".

"Damn! Since when did we swap roles? I remember being the drama queen and you being the chill one", Adam interjects, frustrated.

"Talking is cheap, Levine. Being an 'outsider' is hella hard in this city, you don't how I've struggled, will never know. I've finally made a name for myself and I'm not gonna lose it over two dudes' experiment", Usher grunts.

"Back at you, Raymond", Adam glares at his friend, "You speak as if I've had it easy all my life just 'cause I was raised in a world famous circus, and that's a flat out lie".

"Oh, really?" Usher taunts him.

"Guys...." Shakira tries to appease the two quarreling men, however is pointedly ignored. Carson and Pharrell, for their part, are quietly observing the argument, waiting to see how it unfolds.

"It may be difficult for you to believe but not everyone goes around whining about how tough it's been for them".

"Fuck you, man. You don't get it",

"No, you're the one who doesn't get shit. We all work our butts off in this bussiness, you don't get to be the special snowflake here. Only thing you are right now is a coward", Adam rants.

"I'm not you asshole!"

"Could've fooled me. They bring a perfectly decent job to your doorstep and you're too scared to take it".

"I'm not scared, I have enough of a head to tell when something is convenient and when it'll blow!" Usher yells.

"Yeah, you sure do", Adam leers, his tone even, albeit venomous.

His tranquilness makes his friend madder, makes him want to hurt him.

"Fuck you, fa....!" Usher starts.

"USHER!" Shakira shrieks like a banshee.

For a moment everything/everyone stops.

The next second the blonde is swatting her boyfriend's arm, to remark her disapproval of the word he almost said. It hurts but he doesn't complain.

"Apologize, now", she orders. Her stare cold and merciless on him.

"I'm sorry, Adam. That was uncalled for", Usher obliges, lowering his eyes.

"Nah, it's fine. If I had that thin of a skin I could've never survived in a circus like Casey's", Adam accepts the apology with a conciliatory smile.

The scene is a bit comical, with Usher all contrite like a scolded puppy that just broke a vase; Shakira with her brow furred and crossed arms, still mad at her lover; and Adam, supposedly the injured party, grinning uneasily at the tension between the couple, unsure how to diffuse it.

"Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude but, if you need some privacy to, ehm, resolve you issues, we can leave you three alone for a few minutes or come back another day. As my partner said, you don't have to decide anything now", Carson kindly offers, interrupting the tense atmosphere.

"No, stay", Shakira fidgets, forgetting her ire, embarrased they made an scene in front of their guests, "eveything's alright. The boys already made up, right?" She looks at her friend and boyfriend, and both nod to confirm her words.

"Okay, now, going back to topic, you and Adam agreed to the job, and Usher, you didn't. I understand your lack of faith in our so-called experiment, but, is there any way we can get you to change your mind?".

"I don't know", Usher keeps being reluctant.

"We are making accommodations for a couple of the acts, so we can take your requests if you'd like?" Pharrel tempts him.

"Is it me or are you trying to bribe him?" Adam asks a little incredulous but mostly amused. "Had I known, I would've thrown a tantrum too, so you could try to win me over with favors".

"Adam, quit it", Shakira chides him, The last thing they need is another fight. The man raises his hands over his head in surrender, smiling cheekily.

"I've been told I'm great at pushing people's buttons", he comments

"I can definetely attest to that", Usher teases him. It appears he has regained his humour.

Adam's response is simply to stick out his tongue like a child, at which Usher chuckles and Shakira sighs, fond yet exasperated. It's sort of heartwarming, and Pharrell and Carson feel like they've been in an emotional rollercoaster since the arrived. Nevertheless, everything must come to an end. Feeling dog tired also fuels their desire for the meeting to finish. Not that that is going to interfere with them getting Usher to join them. Giving up isn't an option.

"Soo, ehem", Carson coughs to draw the attention back to himself, "Usher, are you gonna take a risk on us, buddy, or do you need to think it over?".

The man ponders the question for a second before answering.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm so not sold on this whole deal, but if I ask for time or refuse these two", he gestures to his girlfriend and friend, resigned, "won't let me hear the end of it. So, yeah, I'll humor you guys".

"Awesome, man!" Pharrell celebrates. "We really wanted someone like you in our circus. Aside from your knife-throwing abilities -which judging by waht we saw when we got here are top notch-, your voice has lots of charisma and sex-appeal to it. We figured the ladies would go crazy over you".

"And maybe some dudes", Adam jokes.

"Hey, I wouldm't mind that", Usher retorts with a grin.

"You're such an attention whore". 

"Nah, that's all you".

"Leave it, boys. It's been enough for today", Shakira mock scolds them. Honestly she looks as tired, yet blissful satisfied, as Carson and Pharrell feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Usher. I don't think (or know) the real him would use such a slur, but the one that appears here is a flawed human being. He was raised with several prejudices, and he doesn't like them so he tries to be a better person, however sometimes he can't help making mistakes. He has this really bad habit where, while most of the time he's pretty chill, when he gets mad he spouts a lot of crap he doesn't mean. He's working on it.
> 
> Also I don't think I mentioned the year, it is 2011.


	4. First impressions (Or the perks of being the third wheel)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, life happened I guess. Warning, change of POV incoming. Enjoy :).

It is official, his life sucks.

There are many pros to working with your friends. A comfortable atmosphere, lack of pressure -most of the time- and social niceties, easy forgiveness when screw-ups occur, tons of fun, etc. However, what happens if those friends hook up with each other? At best it means bearing awkwardness and cornyness. At worst it means getting caught up in the crossfire of their fights. Like right now. Adam, Shakira and Usher are sitting at a table at one of their favourite places in L.A., "Joe's Corner", an small cozy restaurant famous for its excellent mexican food. Although today they aren't there for the food but to celebrate the scoring of a -potentially- great job. It's been three weeks since Carson and Pharrell came to the gymnasium. And when Usher's finally come around to the idea and they manage to take a breather between performances -their tight budget demands they fill up their schedule-, the lovey-dovey couple decides to have a row.

Adam can't help but blame Usher on this one. He was the one who didn't handle things well. It is an ubiquitous fact, Adam has noted, that the ladies swarm over Usher like bees over honey. Even right this moment he catches some sideway glances directed at his friend from women in other tables. He really is sex on legs like Adam likes to joke. And while there's nothing wrong with being attractive, the problem is Usher enjoys the attention a little too much. Which in turn makes Shakira crazy. Not that men don't oggle her either -she's fucking gorgeous-, she's just too in love to notice. The problem had been that afternoon after their act, Usher had been overly friendly with a tall well endowed brunette that approached him to express her admiration of his abilities. Of course Shakira saw them and threw a bit of a tantrum. And instead of reassuring her or cracking a joke to lighten the mood, Usher got angry himself, reproached his girlfriend her lack of trust in him. So she got even madder and it all scalated to a full-blown fight, only interrupted to go to the popular restaurant they had made reservations in two weeks ago. Cue the present, the three friends sat to a table, sipping quietly their drinks. The tension is so thick it could be cut with a knife, as stereotypical as that sounds. Damnit. This was supposed to be a fun relaxing night. Instead all he wants is for it to end.

Suddenly he catches Shakira staring at a man in a nearby table. His attire is casual, a flannel shirt, well-worn jeans, only his choice of boots betrays his southern roots. Granted it could be a fashion statement, but the guy looks the part. His ruggedly handsome features sure help. He has mussed wavy brown hair, an open smile accentuated by his dimples and short stubble, and the bluest eyes Adam has ever seen in his life. The shade reminds him of those times at the beach when you gaze into the horizon and the sea seems intertwined with the skyline.

The man takes out his phone from his pocket, glances at it and puts it back again. Maybe he's waiting for someone, a friend or a date. A date, Adam sentences when the phone reappears on the hand of the stranger. It is then that Shakira rises from her seat to his side startling him. Usher also seems surprised. Shakira readjusts her clothes and turns to where the man is sitting. Adam prays she's not about to do what he thinks she is. And then she starts walking. Fuck. The cadence of her steps is slow and determined, the slight undulation of her hips making it seductive. Fuck, fuck.

"Excuse me?" The blonde calls when she's reached her target.

The fellow raises his head from the phone he's yet again consulting.

"Yes?" He replies with a clear southern twang.

"Are you alone?" Shakira's voice is soft and velvety.

"Well, I'm actually waiting for someone", the man says with a good-natured smile, aparently missing the woman's flirtation.

"Really? You seemed kinda lonely so I thought I'd go talk to you".

"Don't worry, I'm fine. My date's just running late".

"So you aren't being stood up?" Shakira jokes.

"I sure hope not", the guy chuckles.

"Actually", the blonde says while putting on her best innocent face,"my friends are also late, and I don't know anyone here 'cause I'm new in L.A. I was wondering if you woudln't mind if I sit with you 'till they arrive?"

The guy will refuse, right? He doesn't look interested in Shakira, after all. He can't be. God forbid it.

"Sure, why not?" He answers against all of Adam's hopes. "Could use the company too". He motions for Shakira to take the chair in front of him, his smile still frank and amicable. Usher fumes by Adam's side, eyes burning a hole through the stranger's skull, who remains thankfully albeit frustrantingly oblivious.

"I'm Shakira, by the way", she says as she sits.

"I'm Blake, nice to meet ya", he offers his hand that the blonde shakes it for a little longer than necessary. She even grins, suggestive, but he doesn't take notice. Instead he keeps talking.

"Ya have quite an accent, where exactly are ya from, Shakira?"

"Born and raised in Colombia. Came to the States chasing the American Dream, as you would", she flicks her hair casually, leaning closer to the man, "What about you? You also don't sound like you're from here".

"I'm from Oklahoma, from a small town called Ada".

"And what is a 'country man' doing in the city of angels?" Shakira rests her chin in her hand, her gaze fixed on Blake.

When will the shitshow end?, Adam wonders, tense, feeling Usher get angrier and angrier as the seconds go by and his girlfriend pulls trick after trick to try to seduce another man just to "give him a spooful of his own medicine".

"Work brought me to L.A. I was supposed to be here for a couple months, but something came up and I've decided to extend my stay".

"Was it somthing go...what're those?" Shakira points to Blake's forearms that are visible thanks to the sleeves of his shirt being rolled-up and are covered in scars she's seeing only now.

"These?" He asks raising his arms so the blonde can clearly see the scars.

"Yes, how you got them?" Shakira leans in even closer, genuinely invested in inspecting the numerous injuries, forgetting momentarily her objective.

"They're all from different times but if ya really want to I can tell ya one or two fo the stories", the man declares smiling proudly, like a veteran showing off battle wounds.

"Go on, we have all night", a voice chimes in all of a sudden. A pissed-off female voice.

Although no one's seen her arrive, standing by Blake and Shakira's table is a really, really mad blonde woman. Her arms are crossed over her black night dress and she's clicking her heels against the floor impatiently. So the guy's date has turned up.

"Who's this?" She asks icy.

Blake pulls away from Shakira, realizing they somehow have gotten close during their chat and how it must look from the outside.

"Ran, this's Shakira. Her friends are late too so she asked if we could talk a little", he says awkwardly.

"Right, ya'll were just talking", the woman's tone hardens,"That why ya'll were huddled up so close ya'll could almost kiss? Please, Blake, I ain't blind and I ain't stupid".

"Don't be silly, darling. How could that be? Shakira was only being friendly, right?" The guy turns to the Colombian woman searching for support. Adam bets he wishes Shakira really wasn't flirting with him and he was oblivious enough to miss it. Which is exactly what happened. Although, to Blake's credit, if he managed to ignore Shakira's plainly obvious advances, he must be knee-deep in love with his partner. 

"Of course", Shakira says with a forced grin, "In fact I think I see my friends so I will be leaving now". 

She stands up but is detained by the other woman's piercing stare.

"Shakira, am I right?" She utters.

"Yes?"

"Has no one taught you to stay away from other people's men?"

"I wasn't seducing him, if that's what you think", Shakira lies through her teeth.

"Sure. You were just speaking to him, not wanting to sleep with him, and certainly not disregarding the ring in his left hand", the other woman shoots back, sarcastic.

"You are married?"

"Engaged. And I don't appreciate women like you who try to get in my fiance's pants".

"I'm sorry but you are mistaken. I wasn't..." Shakira begins.

"Oh, shut up! 'Far as I'm concerned you're another floozy batting her pretty eyelashes at my man!".

"Miranda!" Blake reprimands his lover.

Shakira opens her eyes wide in disbelief.

"Did you just call me a slut?" She says carefully, her brow furrowed.

Shit, Adam thinks. Things are scalating way too fast. He's about to go where his friend is and bring her back to their table before a fight can start, when it's Usher that finally tires of angrily watching the scene from afar and heads to his girlfriend's side.

"Yes, I did", Miranda taunts.

"Take it back", Shakira glares at her.

"Ran, I also think ya should apologize", Blake tries to help. He pats his fiancee's shoulder, hopes to calm her down but the tension doesn't leave her body.

"I agree", Usher catches up with the trio and slings his arm over his girlfriend.

"Are you her friend?" Miranda questions, her eyes studying Usher.

"I'm her boyfriend. And why don't you ease up a bit? She didn't do anything to you", he adds sternly.

"But try to sleep with my partner", the blonde spits.

"Ran, I don't think she was.." Blake attempts to explain, at the same time Usher speaks.

"As if Shakira would ever touch that hillbilly boyfriend of yours with a stick", Usher leers and Adam has to literally facepalm because thanks idiot, now you made it all much worse. His friend is in dire need to work on the shit he says when he's mad.

Of course the next thing that happens is Blake losing the kind if sheepish demeanor he had and exchange it for a menacing look. The transformation is staggering. Gone is the slightly hunched back to appear more approachable. Instead the guy straightens his spine, his height suddenly intimidating -he's way over six feet-, he effectively looms over the other three. This could get ugly. Adam doubts whether he should intervene. Ok, he really should. Thing is, how does he go about it? He doesn't want to aggravate the situation, yet he's not "Mr. Tactful" he must admit.

"The hillbilly boyfriend would like to remind ya he's right here and can hear ya just fine", Blake steps forward pointedly staring down at Usher.

"So?" The other man shoots back lifting his arm from Shakira's shoulders and also stepping forward, to meet Blake's challenge.

"Do ya make it a habit to be rude to strangers?" Blake says.

"Does your woman?".

"Was I supposed to be nice to 'YOUR woman' when she was going after MY man?" Miranda cuts in between them.

"I don't know, but maybe you could've been less of a possesive bitch", Usher replies with a mocking tone.

And if the blonde looks very much ready to slap him, her fiance looks ready to punch him. Shakira, for her part, has the gall to look smug by her boyfriend's side, as if she's on "the winning team". Now Miranda seems indecisive on who to strike first.

"And ya could be less of an asshat and stop spouting all that crap", Blake grumbles, towering over Usher menacingly.

"Hey, not my fault if your woman is such a raging bitch", Usher stands his ground and shrugs, looking the other man squarely in the eye.

"How dare you?!" Miranda shouts as her fiance simultaneously grips Usher by the collar of his shirt.

"Apologize", he growls.

"Make me". 

By this moment all eyes, customers and waiters alike, are fixed on the scene. Everyone's containing their breath, holding out for the next development the way one would when watching a TV drama.

Then, three things happen.

First. Adam rises from his seat and starts walking toward his friends to drag them out before everything really goes to hell. However he stops dead on his tracks when.

Second. Blake punches Usher in the face and he stumbles to the floor -though somehow Adam suspects the guy held back a bit, that he could've knocked out his friend-.

Third. Shakira emits a shrill cry and rushes to her boyfriend's side. Except Miranda blocks her path with her body, wordlessly telling her not to interfere in the fight between their partners. Which prompts the Colombian to try to move her out of the way. By slapping her.

Why the fuck is this happening? What the fucking fuck are my motherfucking friends doing?, Adam chants in his mind for the millonth time that night. Around him "the audience" is gasping in surprise, some are taking out their phones, probably to record a video if things continue to get "interesting". Yeah, interesting for them, the royals fuckers. They aren't the ones with friends currently engaged in beating the shit out of/getting beat the shit out by two strangers. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, right this very moment Blake and Usher are trashing each other in a fist fight, while Shakira and Miranda are surprisingly -not for Adam- doing the same -adding a couple pushes, slapping and scratching to the mix-. Maybe he needs new friends. Maybe.

"Usher! Shakira! C'mon guys, stop!" He screams but his pals ignore him, attention fixed on their respective opponents. he shouts again and again, and again and again no one listens. From the corner of his eye he sees a waitress talking to the desk clerk, their faces serious. As she leaves through a back door Adam's mind supplies a worrying idea. What if she was told to call the cops? The situation has surely gotten out of hand. Worse, it could scalate for all they know. It wouldn't be strange if they wanted to let the LAPD handle the brawlers.

So now it's imperative for Adam to effectively drag his friends out of the restaurant. They are on borrowed time. Nevertheless his initial conundrum remains. How to acomplish such feat? Words had no impact on the quartet, so force it'll have to be. He approaches Miranda and Shakira first, deducing that if this fight halts perhaps he could use the blonde's help to detain her boyfriend.

"Shakira! Hey! Hello! Shakira!"

The blonde turns her head for a milisecond and then goes on with her business. Fine. If she wants to be stubborn he can be just as much. He decides to grab her by the sholders and pull her away from the other woman's reach. It isn't easy. He has to dodge Miranda's stray punches, follows the two as they move, and still he cannot gain purchase of his target. As he finally thinks he's made it, Shakira recoils and unwittingly elbows him in the eye.

Both the impact from the blow and the act of covering his eye with his hands to quell the surging pain have Adam staggering backwards and conveniently -convinent as in karmic retribuition for being a horrible person in a past life- hitting the back of his head against the side of a table. This new abuse makes him cry out but he continues his fall to the floor regardless. His head ends up bumping lightly on the checkered tiles and his body sprawled out pathetically. Pain flares in the damaged areas, all he can do is grimace and massage them, giving no craps where he is or even attempting to stand, his plan to bolt before the authorities arrive forgotten.

"I want you all out of my restaurant", Adam hears next.

The stern voice forces him to open his eyes -more like his good one, the other has started to swell so he can barely separate his eyelids-. First he focuses on Shakira, who is squatting by him with a worried face, her clothes and hair dishevelled, a few bruises starting to appear on her skin. Then he sees the other three. The men have also stopped fighting, some feet between them. Blake has an arm drapped over Miranda's shoulder, protective, and Usher is holding the left side of his ribcage. Yet their eyes are not on each other but on someone to Adam's right. He follows the direction of their gazes and finds a severe looking man in his fifties.

"I want you all out", he repeats.

"Who are you?" Blake asks.

"Who am I? I'm Joe, the owner of this place. Now, get out!" The man orders and points with his finger to the exit.

Well, at least it isn't the cops, Adam reasons groggily.

"But, this isn't our fault", Miranda protests, "They", she gestures to Usher, Shakira and Adam, "started. We haven't even ordered yet".

"And you won't any time soon ma'am. You five are banned from coming here again. Leave!" Joe sentences.

Great. Just fucking awesome! This is Adam's favourite mexican restaurant in town and thanks to his stupid friends and the stupid country couple -the nickname he has picked for them- he won't be able to return. Ever.

"Well? What are you all waiting for? Get out this minute or I'll calll the police!" The owner barks, impatient to do away with this unruly clientele.

Adam sighs in defeat. He curses under his breath as he relies on Shakira to help him stand. Then she wraps an arm around his waist so both can support their weight on each other, like they've done on many drunken nights, and they begin heading for the door. Usher follows them inmediately after. Behind the three, Blake and Miranda also pace to the exit.

Outside the night air is cold, a gust of Pacific wind blowing through. It feels pleasant on Adam's skin, especially on his right eye, that must be swollen as a golf ball if how it hurts is any indication, and the back of his head where two big-ass lumps are likely forming. The street is as crowed as you'd expect for a friday, dozens of cars coming and going; and they wait on the sidewalk 'till they spot a taxi which Usher waves at. There goes what they saved in drinks, Adam guesses. He looks around before entering the vehicule wondering if the country couple is still there but they've already left. Once the trio is inside they give the driver Usher's adress first, since his place is the closest one. When they arrive it'll be Shakira and Adam's turn to point the way to their apartment.

Leaning gingerly on the backseat -his head hurts like hell-, Adam looks through the window at the bustling night life as they travel to Usher's. He's weighing up the events of the evening. Next to him his friends are quietly pondering what happened too. Damn right they should. They owe him big time for tonight's shit. Now it's obvious to him that he must stay miles away from the lovers when they're having a spat. Everyone ought to. He sighs again. The air's become kinda stuffy so he opens the window a bit, allowing a cold breeze in. He inhales deeply and lets the wind soothe and slowly lull him to sleep. As he closes his good eye, his last thought is blue, a rich blue sea intertwined with the sky.


	5. Second impressions (Or lemonade keeps turning into lemons)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, college's been pretty busy lately and my mood hasn't really been the greatest, I've been pretty uninspired. Anyway, here it is. Enjoy :)!

Adam has to wonder if he really was such a horrible person in his past life. There's no other explanation for why his luck has been so shitty lately. Maybe karma's finally caught up to him. That must be the reason this (potentially) awesome job he's scored is now very likely to turn into a nightmare. 'Cause what he hoped from the bottom of his heart wouldn't happen has. Like with most fortuitous encounters gone wrong, he expected never to see the people in question again. But of course "the country couple" has to be the exception. Of fucking course.

It's February 17th, the day in which all the personnel of the circus was supposed to meet so they can start working together. The grand opening is in exactly two weeks and there's a lot to prepare. Thus the acts have all gathered in the ring of the principal tent listening to Pharrel and Carson's briefing and introductions. The duo is standing in the centre of the ring while the performers form a semicircle around them. Adam, Shakira and Usher are on one end of the group and "the country couple" is on the other. Adam glances at the couple from the corner of his eye. They don't seem to have noticed them yet. Not that it matters. They all work at the same place, if not today they'll meet soon enough. He hears Carson speaking in the background.

"That's the general outline of what we want to achieve. As for the performances, we'll disscuss them after everyone's introduced themselves", he says.

Adam gulps. He'd wished they wouldn't have to do this in the first place, even if it's logical. He's afraid things are gonna get out of hand like last time.

"Who goes first?" Asks a gorgeous petite blonde woman in the centre of the group placing her hands on her hips. Adam could swear he's seen her before. Oh, wait, he has. She's Christina Aguilera, one of the worlds's most brilliant funambulists.

"Umm, why don't we begin from my right and continue to the left?" Pharrell suggests. "So, can you two come forward and get us started?"

"The country couple" steps forth and positions themselves facing the rest of the crowd. The guy is wearing almost the same attire than last time, the flannel shirt's color is different. The woman has a denim jacket over a white shirt, well-fitted jeans and white short cowboy boots. From her neck hangs a necklace with a tiny heart shaped pendant. On both of their left hands a simple silver band. Adam gives his friends a quick glance. Both seem pretty displeased at seeing the strangers of that fateful night again.

"My name's Balke Shelton, and this's my fiancee, Miranda Lambert", the man says while drapping his arm over his partner's shoulders, a good-natured smile on his lips. "I'm from Ada Oklahoma and Ran's from Lindale Texas, but we met in Nashville in 'The Wondrous Circus of Austin'. We are beast tamers".

"It'll be our pleasure to work with y'all", Miranda completes also smiling.

There's a brief silence -it can't be more than a second or two- where no one really knows what they're supposed to do except smile awkardly -or nervously in Adam's case-. Then Carson and Pharrell begin clapping and everyone follows. After a round of applause Blake and Miranda go back to their place. The next performer stpes froward.

Adam let's out a little snort that thankfully goes unnoticed. The guy apparently shops for clothes at the same store as the male half of "the country couple". He's wearing the same combo: flannel shirt+ jeans+cowboy boots. The only difference is a light gray undershirt made visible by grace of the other shirt being unbuttoned. It might be safe to assume this one also hails from the south. In terms of stature though, he's not as tall, he's got probably just an inch on Adam, who's six feet. The guy has short dark hair and beard, and his eyes are brown.

"Hi, I'm Luke Bryan. I'm from Lessburg Georgia", he says with a thick twang and easy grin, his right hand shoved in his pocket. "I'm a clown, both profressionally and personally".

A few laughs break out which makes the man widen his smile and relax his stance even more.

"Thank you", he adds cheekily. "Always nice to know ya still have it in ya to entertain a crowd. Hope we get along", he finishes with a small nod of his head, and after a round of applause he goes back to his place.

The person that follows him is a fairly tall pretty blonde woman. Her hair is styled in soft waves that curl around her neck and highlight her sharp cheekbones and dark eyes. She's wearing a striped pink top that partially reveals her navel, low-cut white boyfriend pants and red stilettos. As accesories she's chosen a silver chain necklace, several silver rings -plus a golden band which means she's most likely married- and multiple bracelets. The smile on her scarlet lips is polite, professional.

"Hi, my name's Gwen Stefani. I'm from Fullerton here in California", she says with a tiny wave of her right hand, the other is hooked on her hip. "Working with the trapeze is my thing, in fact I'm pretty famous around these parts. Though many of you might know me because my husbands's the frontman of Shrub".

Now that she mentions it, Adam remembers having read about the marriage some years ago. For a good four months it was all the media could disscuss. Everyone had gotten sick of seeing article upon arcticle, whether detailing the secret wedding, the newly ned's honeymoon, infidelity rumours, an official pregnancy announcement, and all the usual garbage the tabloids like o spin around celebrities. But as a result of the incessant gossip and focus on the couple's personal life, Stefani's career had somewhat faded into the background.

"I've been away from bussiness for a while but now I'm ready to give it all I've got. I'll be on your care", she finishes graciously.

Another wave of clapping ensues. As soon as the woman returns to her spot in the semicircle, the trio beside her spring forward. Adam knows them. They are a triple act that's become pretty popular in L.A. in the last five years. He's even met and hung out with them twice. As far as he can tell they're great dudes.

"Hello, I'm James Valentine", says the guy on the right. He's the tallest of the bunch and his straight blonde hair is long enough that it reaches past his shoulders. "I'm originally from Lincoln, Nebraska".

"I'm Jesse Carmichael. I'm from Boulder, Colorado", the one in the centre follows, a tiny bit timid. He ruffles a hand through his light brown locks untidying them more than they already are.

"And I'm Mickey Madden, from Austin Texas", the last guy says with a sunny grin. His hair is shortish and blonde, matching his green eyes well.

The three of them are wearing jeans and t-shirts, albeit with their own personal touches. Jesse has the baggiest pants while James has the tights ones -they are still no rival for Adam's which look practically painted on him, what can he say, he finds ultra-skiny jeans comfy-. Mickey is the only one who threw a blazer into the mix, its navy blue contrasting the light gray of his shirt.

"Together we are 'The Trinity'", the group adds in unison. 

"The awesomest triple act of the country!" They take little bows over and over, prompting everyone to applaud. However their introduction is not over.

"Since we are such an amazing gang some of you MUST know us", James comments cheerily as the three of them stop bowing.

"Right! Everybody that does raise your hands. Let's count our fans", Mickey proposes chuckling.

Three or four people in the semicircle raise thier hands, as do PharreLl and Carson. The room seems to be in a good mood thanks to the antics of the trio. Adam, for his part, feels conflicted. He so obviously knows them, but they haven't noticed him yet and he's not making an effort to detach his extremity from his side any time soon. He doesn't want to expose himself to "the country couple" just yet. In his mind he childshly hopes that something will magically prevent him and his friends from having to present themselves today. He just doesn't want to deal with petty fights right now.

"Well", James continues,"for those who don't know us -and by the way, shame on you guys- this triple act consists of me, and awe-inspiring fire breather/eater, Jesse our spectacular stiltwalker, and Mickey our audacious sword swallower".

Then it happens. Jesse, who up until that point had been innocently observing the crowd, catches Adam with his eyes, stills and furrows his brow as if trying to remeber something. Next he gets this stunned look on his face and taps his head lightly, like he just got the answer to a stupidly easy question. He turns to James to whisper in his ear, only for the same process of recognition to happen again, and damn, Adam is screwed. Mickey, alerted by the attitude of his friends, is also watching him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it has come to my attention that our bosses here have recruited someone famous all around the globe. He happens to be one of our aquantainces as well. Welcome the miraculous, the fantastic, the unbelievable juggler and contortionist from the former 'Casey's Flowers', Adam Levine!", James announces pompously and grandiously -obnoxiously-, the way a ringmaster would.

Adam has to wonder if this isn't a little payback for not raising his hand earlier and if he could get away with bludgeoning the three men. 'Course not, and he wouldn't. Probably. 

All eyes are on him now, so what he does do is heave a deep sigh, put his game face on, and boldly stride forward like he owns the place. Maybe if he's lucky "the country couple" won't recognize him as the friend of the people they had a fight with three weeks ago.

Before turning to face his coworkers he takes his time shaking the hands of the trio.

"Long time no see", he says.

"Why didn't you raise your hand?" Jesse pouts with mock-offense.

"Yeah, what gives? Were you embarrassed to say you know us?" Mickey agrees, also fake pouting.

"Leave it guys. He's a big celebrity. You can't expect him to remember every fan he meets along the way", James feigns disappointment at Adam's "diva behaviour". Meanwhile he's trying to bite back a laugh.

"Hey there, for the record, I haven't forgotten about you jackasses. It's just I was hoping to avoid this whole big presentation shit", Adam counters.

"Cursing like a sailor as usual", Jesse points chuckling.

"It's good to see you and your foul mouth again", Mickey and James chant in annoyingly high voices.

Adam rolls his eyes, huffing a grin, and turns to the crowd.

"I'm sorry you guys had to witness these idiots' shenanigans. I swear they seemed more normal when I first met them".

The three men beside him make funny faces at him ahd he ignores them, causing a few snorts here and there.

"Anyway, as you've already been told, my name's Adam. I was born here in L.A. but I've travelled around the world with Casey's company since I was a baby. And as you all also know, Casey died last year and his circus ended with him, which made me return to my roots. Let's see how far we can take this guys".

His speach is done. Adam waits for the applause yet a last second intervention from Mickey derails that.

"If my memory doesn't fail me, Adam aren't you currently part of a triple act? Were your partners recruited as well?".

Shit. Luck truly hates him today. He shoots Shakira a concerned glance. She nervously nods, telling him to proceed.

"Of course they were", he answers. "They are no less, if not more, amazing than me". He signals for Usher and Shakira to join him in the front, and they walk towards him.

"Hi, I'm Shakira Mebarack Ripoll. I'm originally from Colombia, but just like Adam, I was part of Casey's circus so I've been everywhere too. I'm also a contortionist. It'll be my pleasure to work with everyone", the blonde goes first, offering a radiant smile.

"And I'm Usher", his friend says cooly while casually placing an arm over his girlfriend's shoulder. "From Chattanooga, Tennesse. My track record isn't as fancy as these two are, however I'm pretty successful nowadays. I have a good reputation as a top class juggler and knifethrower; it's possible you might have heard about me. Let's get along". Usher finishes his introduction with a husky tone and a raised eyebrow, and Adam can almost hear the panties dropping. He rolls his eyes again.

The applause the six of them recieve is vigorous, so much so that it lasts a few minutes. All the acts appear happy to have them. Well, almost. "The country couple" is glaring at Adam, Shakira and Usher, burning a hole through their skulls. Great.

 

\- - - - - -

The rest of the meeting flies by Adam's eyes. After everyone's been introduced, they disscuss the schedules for the performances, practicing hours and other miscelaneous he doesn't catch because he can't concentrate on anything that isn't his nerves. He's forming all sort of scenarios in his head, ranging from menial to catastrophic. To try to distract himself he starts propping his leg up and down, which doesn't help any, only reminds him how anxious he is to leave. He crosses his arms over his chest and sighs, resigned. He's never been great at managing his ADHD, yet lately he feels completely useless. He's handled these levels of stress with much more grace in the past.

When the reunion finally ends, Adam tries to leave inmediately, silently willing his friends to follow suit. They don't. Everybody exits the principal tent, save for Shakira, Usher and "the country couple". He entertains the idea of going home for a second before he reminds himself of how the events of the other night unfolded and turns around.

"Never thought we'd see y'all again", Miranda remarks sternly.

"Those are my words", Shakira glowers at her.

"Fancy us all being coworkers, this must be a joke", Blake expresses with a disgusted tone.

"Yeah, what a nightmare", Usher concurs angrily.

The four of them are tense, hostility seeping through their every pore. Adam runs the last stretch that separates him from them. He stands in between the two couples and begins pushing Shakira and Usher towards the exit.

"What the hell, Adam!" Usher complains.

"Adam, stop!" Shakira scolds him.

The resistance they offer doesn't let Adam move them more than a few inches.

"C'mon guys, quit being stubborn", he huffs. "Let's go. Don't want a repeat of the other night".

But instead of listening to his pleas Usher pushes him back so strongly that he stumbles backwards knocking "something" off in his fall to the floor. There's a thud and then Adam's gazing at the tent's cieling. He absentmindedly registers that what he landed on is soft yet firm and warm. Otherwise he'd be feeling the landing in his back and head.

"Could ya get off of me?" He suddenly hears a husky twang in his left ear.

His eyes open wide like plates. The striking realization hits him that he's laying on top of the male half of "the country couple". Still freaking out internally he rolls over to the side, which allows the man previously beneath him to assume a sitting poistion and stand up, all the while rubbing the back of his head. Adam only watches him from the ground stunned and vaguely ashamed for two or three seconds before getting to his feet himself.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall on you, man", he apologizes. "My friend pushed me and..." he starts but Blake stops him with a stare.

"It's fine, but this happened 'cos ya were poking yar nose in someone else's bussiness", Blake declares.

"What?" Adam stammers.

"I hate to agree with the guy, though he's right", Usher says, serious.

"What?" Adam repeats.

"Look, Adam you're our friend and we both appreciate that you have our backs, however this is OUR problem, not yours. We can handle it just fine", Shakira explains crossing her arms.

"Like you handled it at Joe's, in a fist fight?" Adam comments sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

"Didn't my fiance already tell ya that this has nothing to do with ya? Why don't ya go away?" Miranda interrupts, biting.

"You want me to simply stand aside and watch how you guys sort it out?" He turns to the woman in disbelief.

"Pretty much", she answers.

"Only that she meant ya should scram", Blake points harshly. "We are adults and professionals, friend or not, we don't need no fucking mediator".

He glares at Adam, and he glares back. 

Funny how the other day the four of them were figthing like cats and dogs and today they CAN apparently agree on something. That Adam's a pest and they need him gone.

"Fine", he gives up. "You assholes can do whatever you want. Make a scene, get fired for all I care", he almost yells in frustration.

"And you", Adam adresses Blake giving him a last dirty look, "I take back my apology. Next time you fall I hope you crack your neck".

Then he storms off the ring.


	6. Aftermath

Adam is sitting on the couch, shifting through TV channels in the hopes he might find a movie worth watching, when Shakira comes back home. She passes by him heading to her room, where she'll leave her purse and likely change to more comfortable clothes than the dress and heels she's wearing. Her appearance is as neat as when they left for the circus that afternoon, he guesses the argument wasn't physical. So they sort of behaved in the end, huh? It still doesn't alter the fact that he's mad at the four idiots.

After fifteen minutes more or less, Shakira emerges from her bedroom and goes to sit beside him. He was right. She's in her old Van Halen shirt, worn-out cotton shorts plus her favourite fluffy pink slippers. The smile on her face is apologetic, and she's fiddling with her fingers, like every time she's ashamed or doesn't know how to broach a subject. He could cut her some slack for once, but he's a petty guy when angered, so he pretends to be concentrated on the cheesy drama he landed on his search for entertainment. Shakira knows full well that cookie-cutter romance is the genre he despises the most, yet says nothing. Maybe she's waiting for him to iniciate the conversation. She'll have to wait forever then.

"Adam", she finally calls in a soft voice.

He doesn't respond, simply glances at her, willing her to go on.

"Adam, I'm sorry, okay? I know you just wanted to help and did what you did with the best of intentions. But it honestly wasn't necessary. Me and Usher, we're adults. We can deal with our problems on our own. You should know that. How long have we been friends? You don't trust I can make the right choices by myself?"

She's using the hurt-friend eyes and he hates her for it in the moment.

"So you're trying to flip this on me? Make it my fault? I do trust you, it's just you and your boyfriend have already shown a lack of self control I couldn't ignore", he tersely answers looking at the TV.

"Adam, you treated us like children that mess things up as soon as they're left alone. You completely embarrassed us in front of them", Shakira counters slightly exasperated.

At his stubborn silence she keeps talking.

"Besides, fleeing or glossing over our troubles won't solve a thing. We needed to have a talk with them".

"Did anything change?" Adam asks looking at her for the first time in the last ten minutes.

"Well, not much really. We still hate each other. Only we decided to keep our dislilke to ourselves and be civil so no one get's fired", his friend offers with a small smile.

It's enough for him.

"Will you look at that? You CAN be adults after all", Adam quips.

"Jerk", Shakira says and elbows him on the side.

"Ouch, easy there! When did you become this violent? It must be Usher's bad influence", he comments, a shiteating grin playing on his face.

"What are you talking about? I've always been spunky", she declares.

"Clearly".

They focus their attention on the movie. Adam would change channels in a jiffy, but he knows how much Shakira enjoys romance and he wants to humor her. Minutes go by.

"I'm sorry, for the record", he utters after a while. "I guess I overreacted and didn't stop to think how you guys felt".

"It's okay, I understand. You get really protective of the people you like". 

"Thanks".

"You should apologize to Usher too".

"I was going to".

"Good, 'cause he doesn't know you like I do and he's a bit pissed at you".

"Didn't you vouch for me?" He pouts.

"I tried but he was in a bad mood and went home straight after the discussion", she shruggs.

"I'll just have to win him over then".

"Win him over? Are you trying to steal my boyfriend?" Shakira jokes.

"Oh, please no! Not this crap again!" He grimaces.

"It feels like deja vu, doesn't it?" The blonde agrees.

"Tell you what. We forget about those two for tonight and we relax watching movies. Are you in?".

"Totally".

"Cool. I'll go make us some popcorn", Adam gets to his feet.

"Biding your time 'till this flick ends?" Shakira raises an eyebrow, amused.

"Yup", he answers disappearing into the kitchen.


	7. Chat in the dressing room

"Tell me again why are you here?", Christina asks carefully applying foundation all over her face.

"My preparations for the grand night are done and I'm bored", Adam answers.

"You're not wearing your costume".

"I can change in five minutes".

"Whatever". She goes back to the long task of doing her makeup.

Adam sighs and shifts to find a more comfortable position where he's leaning against the table on which Christina has placed her numerous toiletries and cosmetics. The real reason he's currently hanging out in the trailer that acts as the women's dressing room three hours from the grand opening of the circus, is because he can't stand the awkward atmosphere in the men's one. Save for Cee lo, who negotiated his own trailer when they first contacted him about the job, all male performers share the same space. Meaning Blake is there and he and Usher are still on bad terms with him. Normally they ignore him -it's easy since they have different training hours- but the close quarters make everything more strained. If to that you add Miranda helping her fiance put on his makeup, then you have the reason why Adam decided to flee to greener pastures. At least here there aren't people who hate his guts. The three women in the tralier right now are Christina, Gwen and Alicia. Christina can be a bit of a diva however she likes him well enough. Alicia's pretty chill with everyone and so is Gwen, unless she's on a bad mood. So yeah, he's staying in the women's dressing room for the moment.

"Where's Shakira by the way?" He inquires. "Did she finish as well? I didn't see her outside or in the tent".

"She said she forgot something at home", Alicia quotes as she rummages through a bag full of cosmetics.

"Classic Shaki", he smiles.

"This is normal?" Christina chimes in. Her foundation is fully blended now.

"Yeah, she always gets nervous before a show".

"Aren't you worried she's not gonna be back on time? You two are partners", Gwen questions. She hasn't even started on her makeup yet because of the complicated hairdo she's chosen. It consists of a million tiny braids that'll probably take her at least half an hour more.

"Nah, she'll make it as usual", Adam waves off.

There's a short moment of silence in which the three women concentrate on their respective beauty tasks and he just lets his mind fly for a while.

"I think I know why you're really here, Adam", Gwen turns to him.

"Why?"

"Because of Miranda. She went to help her fiance, right? I wondered what was wrong when she did her makeup in a hurry and bolted without a word".

"That makes sense", Alicia agrees. She's found the eyeshadow she was searching for.

"Everybody knows you three don't get along with that couple", Christina adds almost mechanically. "Though no one knows what happened between you".

"Long story short, a series of unfortunate and stupid events not worth reapeating", Adam dismisses the topic.

"That doesn't explain anything", the funambulist complains.

"It's all you'll get for now".

"Whatever", she utters again, losing her interest in the conversation.

Quiet falls back but Gwen breaks the spell once more.

"You guys wanna hear some juicy gossip?" She says casually, fighting with a braid that refuses to resemble its peers. It's either too loose or tight.

"Sure", Christina's enthusiastic.

"I guess", Alica seems indifferent. She isn't the type to poke her nose in other people's business.

"Why not", Adam shruggs.

"Don't tell this to anyone, but I overheard Carrie and Miranda talking on Monday. Miranda was telling her that her relationship with Blake was kinda rocky lately. She worried she was gonna lose him".

"No wonder she has been cranky recently", Christina comments.

"If by cranky you mean opleny murderous to every woman that dares glance in her fiance's direction, then yes", Alica points out.

"Do you think he's cheated on her before?" Gwen ponders.

"As much as I'd hate to stand up for the guy, I don't believe it. Doesn't look like the kind", Adam says reluctantly.

"Anyone can cheat", Gwen retorts.

"I agree with Adam", Christina supports him. "Blake seems too honest for that".

"He's a friendly man, that can be taken the wrong way", Alicia contributes.

"Still doesn't make him unfaithful".

"We can't know for sure", Gwen insists.

"Do you have a personal interest in proving the cowboy's a womanizer?" Adam chuckles.

"I was just saying", the trapeze artist defends herself. Half her hair is done so she's beginning with the other half.

"You call him 'cowboy'? Isn't that too stereotypical for someone from the South?" Alicia frowns.

"I don't need to be kind to my enemies. Plus I think Oklahoma's the Midwest", he counters.

"That doesn't seem right", Christina argues.

"Well, I met someone from there awhile back and they were admant in telling me it was the Midwest".

"Odd".

"Yeah, you said it".


	8. An instructive talk

The grand opening goes smoothly. Carson acts as ringmaster and makes sure everything stays on schedule. They start by having all performers enter the ring and sing a medley of songs. Voices perfectly mash together and applause and cheer soon fill the whole tent. Then it's time for the real show to commence. the first one to go is Cee lo accompanied by two beautiful assistants. Next is "The Trinity"; Pharrel with an astounding magic trick; Adam, Shakira and Usher with their own triple act; Carrie displaying her incredible vaulting abilities; and Michael and Luke joining forces with their different clown styles to provoke the more laughs possible. The grand finale is left to Gwen and Alicia and their trapezes, and to Christina and her "walk of death" along the tightwire. They close off things with a song sang by the entire group. The applause is deafening this time. Seems like the first night was a success.

As the crowd vacates the premises, everyone gathers around the ring and shares a loud cheer. They did it! Here's hoping the papers will dedicate a nice article to the circus tomorrow morning. Still, they don't want to claim victory so soon. That and the fact there's another show the following night mean the celebration party won't be held this evening. Thus cleaning up ensues. There's a lot to do. The floor and bleachers are covered in a menagerie of all kinds of stuff. Crumpled flyers, confetti, fallen coins and bank notes, chunks of food, plastic cups, a scrunchie, a forgotten teddy bear, sticky stains of any beverage imaginable. While the staff takes care of that, the acts collect their props and go to the trailers to change. However, before going home they decide on two people to place all the props into the storage room. The selection narrows down to the two individuals that have no specified plans that night. In other words, Adam and Blake end up being volunteered for the job. The men look at each other and then at the mountain of objects they've got to put away, and they grumble. So, without much choice in the matter, they begin carrying the props. The storage room is little more than a glorified locker with three big shelves starting from the floor to the ceiling. From the roof pends a bulb which dying light barely serves to iluminate the tiny space.

It takes a while for the two men to be almost finished. By then, only they remain in the premises. There's only a ball left and Adam grabs it and enters the storage room. He sees no place available in the lower shelves. Nonetheless, when he raises his head, he spots a gap in the tallest shelf. He tries to reach with his hand and is unable to. Even standing on his tiptoes isn't enough. Damn it. The gap is just there, at the front, it should be easy. How did the stuff in the back make it there anyway? Must have been "the cowboy". Adam turns to look for the guy, but he didn't follow him.

"Shelton!" He hollers, half expecting the man to have gone home already.

He receives no answer. Yup, the bastard scrammed. So he resolves to do the work alone. He steps over some hoops in a lower shelf to prop himself up and extends his arm as much as he can. Still he cannot quite reach where he wants.

"Did you call?" Blake appears out of thin air.

He gasps, surprised, and almost stumbles backwards.

"Fuck! Don't scare me like that!" He admonishes.

Blake simply rolls his eyes and ignores Adam's pissed tone.

"Is that ball the only thing left?" He asks instead.

Adam sighs, frustrated, and doesn't answer him. He continues trying to reach the top shelf.

"Do ya need help with that?" The other guy offers eying the hoops he's stepped on distrustfully.

"I'm fine", he half turns to respond. "I can do this on my..." he begins but loses his equilbrium in the middle of speaking thanks to the hoops sliding under his feet.

And then it's like a domino effect. He falls on Blake, and Blake falls on the door -that opens inwards- banging it shut. What's worse is that the force of the strike makes the latch fall on the outside effectively trapping them in. Once again Adam hasn't suffered major damage thanks to a convenient "cowboy cushion". Which he is grateful for, don't get him wrong, but the position they are in is uncomfortable for two dudes that can't stand each other. He's basically sitting on Blake's lap and his back is plastered to his chest. He can even feel the guy's breath on his ear for God's sake! Blake emits a small groan and he quickly moves away before being told to. He gets to his feet and dumbly stares at the door wondering if they really are locked in. He poitedly ignores looking down to the male half of "the country couple".

"Shit!" Blake complains. "Why is it that everytime ya get close to me ya end up falling on me?". His angry tone forces Adam's sight on him.

"Whatever", he answers. "We've got bigger troubles than that". 

"What do ya mean?"

"I don't think you've noticed yet, but the door behind you is shut. We're trapped", Adam sarcastically says.

Blake's eyes grow big and he bolts right up. Adam recoils a little from the sudden movement, his back hitting the centre shelf. Meanwhile Blake bangs the door and pushes with all his strength, trying to break it open. After a minute he has to give up. The door hasn't budged an inch.

And then, because destiny loves Adam, the light goes off. It's no wonder with how weak it was, nevertheless the timing seems awfully coincidental. As if an invisible imp delighted itself in Adam's misery.

"Great. Just great", he complains as he slides to sit on the floor.

In front of him, he hears "the cowboy" do the same.

"Do ya have a phone with ya?" Blake inquires.

"What about yours?" He questions back.

"I left it in my jacket in the trailer".

"Right. Well, luckily I have mine in the pocket of my jeans".

Adam fits his hands under the fabric and retreives the object. As he intends to use it he realizes with a tiny pang of panic that the phone is out of battery.

"Shit!" He mutters.

"What happened?" Blake can hear him perfectly since there's not much space betweern them to begin with, the shelves occupy most of it, leaving only a small square free. And while they are sitting opposite one another, they have to keep their legs close to their bodies if they don't want to touch. Both being the last person they want to be trapped anywhere with means they really, really don't.

"We're fucked, that's what", Adam comments bitterly.

"Why?"

"I'm out of battery. We'll be here 'till morning. Or more, who knows when they'll need a prop".

"Damn it!" Blake yells as he punches the door harshly. The loud metallic bang half startles Adam half makes him wish it was him discharging his frustration against the darn thing.

"Why didn't ya charge yar phone?!" Blake recriminates next.

"Why didn't YOU have YOURS?!" Adam lashes out in response.

"I didn't wanna drop or lose it! I never planned to get stuck here with ya!"

"Neither did I, jackass! Stop trying to make this my fault!"

"Ya fell on me!" Blake accuses.

"Because you distracted me!"

"Ya seemed like ya were 'bout to fall and ya did!"

"Bullshit! I had everything under control!"

"And why did ya call me, then?! Huh?!" Blake retorts.

"Thought I needed your help to reach the top shelf, but I didn't, ok?! I was fine on my own!", Adam furiously states.

He expects another string of screams from the othe man however he receives none. In the darkness he hears Blake heave a deep sigh.

"I wish I didn't come back to check if we were finished", he whispers to himself.

"Me too", Adam mirrors.

For a while both remain quiet.

"Thanks", Adam murmurs out of the blue.

"What?" Blake sounds taken aback.

"I'm thanking you for sort of catching me when I fell. I'd have hurt myself if you hadn't been there".

"Yar welcome?" Blake's voice s strained, Adam's sincerity still surprising him. Adam can't help but snort.

"What now? Why ya laughing?" Blake manages to sound like a pouty child which in turns makes Adam start laughing incontrollably.

"It's justhahathathahaha..." he attempts and fails miserably.

"Could ya try talking like a normal human being?" Blake's exasperated tone does nothing to calm Adam. Instead he cackles.

He only stops a couple minutes, feeling the cowboy shoot darts at him with his eyes despite the dark.

"I'm sorry, man", he apologizes, smiling still. "I just found your reaction to my thanks funny. Like you couldn't believe I wasn't a complete bastard".

"Aren't you?" Blake counters, acid.

"Nah, I'm only a jerk when someone provokes me", Adam taunts him, the grin on his lips somehow not losing its effect due to the lack of visibilty.

"Good Lord, why did it have to be ya? Why not anyone but ya?" Blake groans.

"So Shakira or Usher would've been better?"

"Shut up, ok? Just shut up", the man sounds like he's about to explode.

"Oh, c'mon! Loosen up cowboy. We've got hours before anyone comes. Let's make the most of it".

"Cowboy?" Adam can almost see Blake frowning.

"It's an endearing term", Adam lies through his teeth.

"Right, 'cos we're each other's best friend", Blake's voice is midway between being sarcastic.

"You can call me cityboy if you want", he offers. A little sacrifice to appease the Bigfoot, he thinks and fortunately doesn't say.

"Fine".

Beat.

"So, are we good?" He tests the waters.

"No, we aren't. This's only a temporary truce 'till we get out".

"Works for me".

"So how do ya propose we quote on quote, make the most of it?".

"We have ourselves a merry little chat".

"That it? The groundbreaking revelation?" Blake snarks.

"You're so funny!" Adam rolls his eyes. "What else you imagine we can do in this darkness?"

When he doesn't receieve an aswer he knows he's won this round.

"What do you wanna talk about?" He prompts.

"Nothing".

"Killjoy".

Blake sighs, his unwillingness to participate in the conversation plain. Adam sighs as well. Why's the guy got to be so difficult? Then, an idea crosses his mind.

"Now I think about it, why are we still here?" He says in a puzzled tone.

"Ain't it obvious?" The other man sounds annoyed, like he wanted to say are you for real?.

"I mean, yeah, my friends were going out, but your fiancee must be looking for you", Adam deadpans. 

"Except she isn't. She is staying at Carrie's. They were having a girls' night".

"There's trouble in paradise alright", Adam whispers under his breath almost automatically.

"What did ya say?"

"I didn't say anything", he tries to salvage the situation. The joys of not having a brain to mouth filter most of the time.

"Don't fuck with me. I heard ya say there was trouble in paradise. Maybe ya'd like to explain yarself", Blake's tone is accusatory.

Adam is going to take the fifth in principle, however, he ultimately decides against it. If he wants to scape the storage room unscathed he'd probably do well being honest.

"Someone overheard Carrie and Miranda talking and told me ablout it. Your fiance said you were having problems". Well, it's as honest as he can get without dragging Gwen into the mess too.

"Who told you that?" Blake questions him, peremptory.

"Does it matter?" Adam attempts to dodge the question. Plus the imperative tone the guy uses makes him less willing to divulge the information.

"Some asshole is going around telling my and Miranda's personal stuff, 'course it matters. Who was it?" The man insists crossly.

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you. There's enough people you hate in this circus as is. Why don't you let it go this time?"

"Who are ya trying to protect? Is it one of those two?"

"No, neither even know about it".

"Then, who?"

"Still not telling you", he singsongs. Damn the cowboy is persistent.

"C'mon! Just tell me!"

"Get it into your skull, it's not happenig. Give up".

"Give up?!" Blake repeats. "Would ya do the same if ya were in my shoes?".

"Yes", he says defiant. How is it that all they can do is argue?

"Liar".

"It's the thruth. I wouldn't try to force you to talk like you are doing to me".

"I forgot ya were such a good person, so altruistic", Blake spews half sarcasm half anger.

And Adam's had enough.

"Get over yourself". His voice is calm but devoid of all warmth, icy. The change seems to baffle the other man into silence.

"I don't owe you shit. No one does. Everybody knows you secrets? The details of your personal life? You think they're gonna judge you? Be the arbiters of how you live? Boo-fucking-hoo. Get over yourself. As if you were the first jackass that's happened to".

There's a long drawn out pause. Adam feels himself melting into the darkenss, his calm fury easing. He inhales and exhales deelply. He's fine now.

"Did ya go through something similar?" Blake speaks softly if apologetically.

"I did. But you're blowing things out of proportion. Nothing's transpired yet".

"If ya've been there ya know gossip is the first step to disaster", the guy disagrees.

Adam can't really contradict him, not when that's how it went for him.

"I just don't want any drama right now. Not right now", Blake continues.

"Can I ask...?" He begins.

"Yes, Miranda and I are having relationship troubles", Blake answers a bit abruptly. "And no, I don't wanna talk 'bout it".

"It might help, though".

"Why should I confide in ya?"

"Ok, do you have anyone else to talk this with?"

"No".

"No? Family? Friends? No one?" He asks incredulously.

"What I mean is I've no one who understands", the man sighs. "My folks expect the wedding to be any day soon and all my friends say I'm being silly".

"How about Luke?" He suggests.

"I've only known him for two weeks".

"Luke thinks we're the perfect couple. I'm tired of listening to his jokes and compliments on my relationship", the beast tamer sentences.

"Guess you're stuck with me, then, literally".

"Or we could not do this".

"What's it gonna take for you to confess your deepest and darkest secrets to me?" Adam bargains, a little smile on his lips.

"I thought you weren't the type to force people to talk", Blake reminds him.

"This is different. I'm trying to help you dude".

"What if I don't wanna be helped?"

Adam huffs. If the cowboy were an animal he'd surely be a mule.

"All right", he utters.

"Eh?" The other man's confused.

"I'm saying I'll do this right", Adam declares.

"Care to explain?"

"It's simple. I tell you something personal and you do the same in exchange".

Blake seems to consider the offer for a minute.

"Shoot", he finally speaks.

"I'm bisexual. Your turn".

Even if he can't see him Adam knows Blake's jaw has gone slack. He doesn't know why this reaction amuses him.

"Surprised?" He teases with a lopsided grin on his mouth.

"No, no, just, I. I thought, uhm...ya were, er, straight", the man mnages nervously.

"I get that a lot. The oposite too", he says, nonchalant.

"Wow, really? Must be tough", Blake's strained voice as he tries to empathize with Adam is priceless. It's a little too much to stay serious.

"Relax, cowboy", he chuckles. "It's alright, you don't have to try so hard. I'm not gonna chew you out".

"Ya're not?" Blake's relief is so obvious. Like he's seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. And it's hilarious enough to force him to contain a laugh. It also shows Blake might not be such an asshole as he first thought. If he Is capable of worrying about insulting the sexuality of someone he hates, he can't be all that bad.

"Of course not, dude. It's not your fault most people are wired to think everyone's straight. Besides, with me, the weird thing is for them to get it right".

"Doesn't that bother ya?"

"Sometimes, it depends on the day. And the person".

A tense silence surrounds them again.

"Do ya want..." Blake begins carefully. "Do ya want me to keep this a secret?"

"I'm not closeted, cowboy", he promptly clarifies.

"But ya haven't told anyone here", the guy protests.

"The topic never came out. Whatever people assume I don't and never will feel the need to state my sexuality everytime I have a conversation", he expresses, letting a little frustration seep out.

"Sorry", Blake's tone is contrite. "I keep putting my foot in my mouth".

"Don't sweat it. I'm sure you haven't met much folks like me anyway".

"Not like ya, but I knew a kid in highschool who was gay. We were in the football team together".

Adam instantly feels like an ass at the revelation. How hypocritical of him to complain about stereotyping and then go on to stereotype someone else.

"Was he in the closet?" He asks.

"Mmhm. He was a good fellow, a good player. All the team, everyone, liked him. Unless until it got out he was dating a male junior from the neighbouring highschool. It got really bad from there. They kicked him out fo the team. He was bullied non-stop no matter where he went. Eventually he couldn't take it anymore and shot himself with his fahter's rifle".

"Blake", Adam gasps horrified, the name he hasn't uttered even once before seamlessly slipping past his lips.

"I should've helped him. It's one of my biggest regrets. He was a good person, better than most jerks at school. He needed help and I, I turned my back on him. I was a coward, ya see. I didn't want my friends, hell, the whole town to hate me like they did him. If I'd sided with him I woul've been shunned as well". The man's voice is small and fragile, full of pent up remorse and guilt.

Adam doesn't know what to say, what to do. He feels tempted to comfort the cowboy yet all the words he can gather sound hollow to him. They barely know each other, have just started to get along enough so that they don't want to strangle the other. He honestly doesn't have any authority to reassure Blake. Instead, he remains quiet, hugging his legs to his chest even tighter than before. He listens.

Meanwhile Blake keeps on recounting his past, speaking more to himself than Adam at this point.

"One day he came to my house, ya know? He knocked on my door, said he wanted to talk to me. I didn't let him in, I was too scared, so he left. Two weeks later he was gone. I'll never forgive myself for that. God gave the chance to make things right and I..." the man doesn't finish the sentence. Whether he feels the subject is far too intimate to share anyomre with Adam or he senses his discomfort, the topic dies there.

"Ehem", Blake awkwardly coughs. "I guess now ya'll want to hear about me and Miranda".

"Ah?" He babbles, blinsided by the return to the original conversation.

"Isn't that what ya were interested in?"

"Yeah, but I said personal crap for personal crap, and this whole story about the gay guy you knew in highschool is more than enough, believe me".

"Thank ya". Blake's tone is almost -almost- fond, which somehow makes him feel oddly flustered.

"What for, dipshit? Not like I'm doing charity here", he waves off, no real heat in his voice, his words slightly wavering on the edges.

"That so?" The cowboy chuckles and for a moment he can see the man shaking his head affectionately. Motherfucking brain and its motherfucking delusions.

Could it be the air is beginning to run out? A prickle of panic runs down his neck and he does his best to dissmiss it. Even if there aren't windows in the room, surely there must be a ventilation vent that'll keep them alive until morning. He hopes.

He's so inmersed in his thoughts he doesn't hear Blake speaking to him.

"Hey. Are ya listening?"

"Hey".

"Hey, buddy!"

"Hey, rockstar!"

The nickname inmediately catches his attention.

"Rockstar? I thought we'd agreed on cityboy", he raises an eyebrow.

"Don't worry, I'm saving that one for a time I need to mock ya", Blake asserts cheeekily.

"Idiot".

"Why rockstar, anyway?" Adam inquires.

"Skinny ripped jeans, tattooed arms, cocky attitude, ya've rockstar written all over. Ya don't happen to play guitar, do ya?" The other man answers amused.

"And if I did?"

"Then I hereby declare ya, rockstar", Blake quips, trying to stop himself from laughing.

"Ugh, you really are an idiot. Like really", he groans.

To which Blake responds by cackling. His laugh is booming, deep and obnoxious; kinda like a Midwestern Santa. And yet, it's strangely contagious. After a while Adam finds himself unintentionally smiling along.

"Going back to topic", Blake reins in his laughter at last. "'Bout my realtionship. I think maybe I want to disscuss it in the end".

"With me?"

"Do ya see anyone else here?"

"I don't see anything right now, cowboy", he can't help but give the guy a little crap.

"Ya know what I mean, asshole".

" Ok, ok, I'm all ears".

Hears Blake take a large gulp of air.

"I was married once", Blake sighs. "Her name was Kanyette. She was daughter of the owner of the circus I used to work at. I thought I loved her more than anything in the world, but somehow, we fell apart in time. Then I met Miranda, and I knew it was over. It got rough for a while, they kicked us out of the circus, but thought it was all woRth it 'cos I'd found the right one".

The man makes a pause, as if to deliberate whether to go on. Or perhaps he's just looking for the best words to express how he feels. It is plain this is the first time he's ever confided these doubts to anyone, and isn't that ironic. That Adam is that first person when their relatioship has been awful from the start. This sudden bonding of theirs is so surreal to him.

"And now things are going wrong with Miranda too. I don't get it. It's like everything was going fine and then, one day, there was this wall between us. We used to be so close and now there's this distance. All we do is fight, and, and sometimes I feel like she don't trust me. She looks me in the eye and I can see her fear I'm gonna leave..."

"She's wrong", Adam interrupts.

"Why do ya say that?"

"Dude, Shakira threw herself at you and didn't even notice. I'd say you really do love your fiancee a lot", he states.

"Damnit! Miranda was right about that?" Blake comments beffudled.

"Take it as a testament of your unwavering love", Adam pokes fun at him. "And/or incredible naivete".

"Laugh all ya want, it tool me a while to make her forget that disaster", the guy says humourlessly.

"Don't worry, cowboy, you weren't the only injured party of the night", Adam chuckles if only to prevent Blake's mood from worsening which would likely result in yet another fight.

"Yeah? What happened to ya?"

"I tried to separate your fiancee and Shakira and ended up with a black eye and two big lumps on the back of my head. Had them for more than a week".

"Well, maybe ya shouldn't've interfered", Blake suggests kindly, in lieu of saying what you did was a terrible idea.

"I'm too good of a person adn to stupid for that", he shrugs.

"We've all been there, I guess".

"Yeah".

"So..." the man starts awkwardly then stops himself.

"What?"

"Adam", and it's the first time Blake's ever said his name. "Can we keep talking 'bout, ya know, my relationship some other time?"

Adam still feels curious. Still wants to get to the bottom of the matter, fully understand the situation between the tamers. However, Blake's reluctance to continue -irritating as it may bewhen the guy was finally speaking- leaves him no choice but to comply. The suggestion of a future conversation has to sufice for him at that point.

"No problem, dude", he says. "I got all the juicy gossip I needed, anyway", he leers, teasing.

"Not so fast, rockstar. I've also got some dirt on ya", Blake shoots back, high spirits regained. On a side note, "rockstar" remains an extremely cheesy nickname. The fact that Blake manages to make it work and not sound utterly cringey is the biggest mystery, though.

And then they chat away.

\- - - - - -

"BLAKE!"

Adam wakes to a thunderous yell and blinding sunlight. Or more like he startles awake. For a second all he can do is blink repeatedley trying to adjust to the sudden sorce of ilumination. Once he does, the first thing he sees is a furious Miranda dressed in a lilac tracksuit. The door of the storage room is wide open, and she's standing on the threshold, glowering at her fiance. She's clutching a cellphone in her right hand and the bags under her eyes suggest a restless night despite the efforts she's put into neatly arranging her appearance.

He stares at her for a long moment, not moving a bit from where he's resting. His back is against the hard shelf and all its various contents but his head is leaning on something firm and warm. A really comfortable something.

"Levine, now that ya're awake, could ya get off of my fiance?" The woman demands, her hands perching on her hips.

It dawns on him that his head has fallen on Blake's shoulder while they slept. They had begun the night on opposite ends of the room, yet at some point the tamer had moved from the door and gone to sit beside him -the only place left- since he didn't want to obstruct it when somebody came to their rescue.

He springs to his feet as fast as he can, not wanting to incur the woman's wrath. For his part, Blake's still sleeping like a log. Poor dude. He's in for a rough start, and that's putting it mildly, if the look on his fiancee's face is anything to go by.

Adam sways past Miranda, murmuring a soft "thanks", and scrams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some progress ;)


	9. Changes

At first it still looks like they're arguing. That is, from an outsider's point of view it looks like they've moved on from mutually ignoring their respective existences to actively quarreling and bashing the other. There's cursing, name calling, an overpowering desire to come out on top, to be the one in the right, to win the competition between them; and lots, heaps, mountains, oceans of sarcasm and witty remarks.  
Oh, but everyone's wrong, and they're about to find out. 

 

\- - - - - -

 

Of course when it's all said and done and the three singing groups are decided, Shakira, Usher and Adam end up with Blake and Miranda as their partners. Pharrel gives them the song "This Love" to prepare with and easy smile and a raised eyebrow, his eyes unusually serious, as if to say: "solve your problems already, for fuck's sake". Adam knows the owner and magician is getting tired of their feud at this point. Most everyone is. Except maybe for Gwen and James, who think it's inordinately amusing. Then again, as their love for gossip is becoming more and more evident, he guesses it's only natural. 

He glances at his friends and next at the other couple. There's an open animosity in all four faces. He sighs. Somewhere, in the invisible and impenetrable plane of being where it resides, the imp is sniggering, anticipating the outcome of his devious designs.

 

\- - - - - -

 

"Stop, stop! Let's start over!", Miranda interrupts for the fifth time. 

The other four come to a halt as well. Blake, Miranda, Shakira, Usher and Adam are currently rehearsing the song's last chorus. Or trying to at least.

"Oh, c'mon! What's wrong this time?", Usher complains, his frown steadily growing deeper.

"Someone keeps getting behind", the woman explains exasperated.

"I think we were all on time, Ran", her fiance attempts to placate her. He's not having the time of his life either, but he figures the sooner they finish the better.

"No, we weren't", she insists. "In fact, it was Shakira".

"What?", the Colombian startles by Adam's side.

"Ya came in late, it threw off the whole song. Ya should be more careful", Miranda stubbornly states, hands on her hips -a gesture she typically does when angered-, challenging the other woman to respond.

"I didn't. Perhaps YOU were early", Shakira shoots back.

"Hey, how about we take it from the top, you guys?", Adam steps between the two blondes' death stare contest.

"We haven't fully gone through the last chorus even once", Usher needlesly suplies.

Adam makes a mental note to smack him over the head as soon as the three of them are alone again.

"I agree", Blake supports Adam, "the harmonies for the first two choruses need to be tighter". 

Following the structure of the song they'd split in two pairs who would sing the first and second verses and choruses leaving the bridge for the odd one out. Then the five of them'd join their voices for the final chorus. Although the problem had been who sang what with who. Given the dysfunctional nature of the group's relationships, the permutations available that allowed a somewhat peaceful cohabitation among its members were limited. 

In addition, for a reason that completely scaped Adam's mind, Blake and Usher had understood the middle eight as the spotlight of the tune, as the grand solo. Thus they had engaged in an arguement about who was the more deserving. In the end, after minutes of passive-agressiveness and poorly-if at all- disguised murderous looks, they had sorted the matter out with a classic game of rock, paper, scissors. Blake emerged victorious. Miranda's smug eyes at her fiance's win had lasted until she realized she was to duet with one of the remaining three. That meant that, aside from group practices, they'd have to meet alone to properly rehearse their parts. Adam volunteered for the job,one to avoid the subsequent drama that'd ensue from either of his friends partnering with her -and he'd be both a direct and indirect witness, counting on Shakira's certain detailed account (rant) of the events-, and two because the woman seemed to tolerate him slightly more.

"You are one to talk. You aren't even singing those parts", Usher grits out.

If Usher were standing beside him, he'd have already earned himself a good ole elbow in the gut. Dear God, why does he have to make this any harder?

"Leave it Ush. We'll be here all day at this rate. Let's at least get done what we can", Shakira unexpectedly intervenes. Her eyes direct a glare to Miranda, wordlessly telling her she's the one causing all the delays and trouble, the one being difficult. Adam would like to add that, in his sincere opinion, the four of them assholes are the difficult one. He has to admit he's as tired as everyone else is of the feud. Or maybe even more so than everyone, 'cause he has to personally deal with all the crap and they are only there to see the disimulated death stares, obvious avoidance of each other, and occasional curses muttered under their breaths. 

"Fine", the knife-thrower accepts.

"Great", Adam aproves halfheartedly. "You guys can begin", he gestures to Shakira and Usher. They both release a long sigh and take a large gulp of air. Their gazes lock for a second and they smile, a clear show of their fondness. Adam rolls his eyes at the lovey-dovey couple, somehow knowing the other couple is doing the same without actually glancing at them, and isn't that hypocritical of them? There might be some jealousy, though, given the strain their relatioship has sustained lately. This might be a remainder of better times for them, times when everything was new and easy.

"One, two, three".

Usher starts:

I was so high I did not recognize

The fire burning in her eyes

The chaos that controlled my mind

Then Shakira follows:

Whispered "goodbye", and she got on a plane

Never to return again

But always in my heart

They join for the chorus: 

This love has taken its toll on me

She said "goodbye" too many times before

And her heart is breaking in front of me

And I have no choice 'cause I won't say goodbye anymore

If Miranda has any onjections or complaints on the singing she doesn't verbalize them, plus is left with no time to try to do that as her turn to perform nears.

Adam breathes in, he's next:

I tried my best to feed her apetite

Keep her coming every night

So hard to keep her sarisfied

Miranda:

Kept playing love like it was just a game

Pretending to feel the same

Then turn around and leave again

But I know

Second chorus:

This love has taken its toll on me

She said "goodbye" too many times before

And her heart is breaking in front of me

And I have no choice 'cause I won't say goodbye anymore

Time for the bridge. Blake's on:

I'll fix this broken things

Repair your broken wings

And make sure everything's alright

My pressure on your hips

Sinking my fingertips

Into every inch of you

'Cause I know that's what you want me to do

Listening to the man's husky voice, Adam can't help but think maybe his eagerness to have this part of the song wasn't pure competitiveness. Maybe the lyrics resonated with him. Maybe it's what he'd wish to convey to his lover. Or maybe he is reading too much into all this shit. Blake hasn't talked to him about his "love problems" since that fateful night in the storage room. Granted, their friendship is still new and he perhaps doesn't feel comfortable discussing such intimate topics with Adam. That night, it must've been a fluke, Blake just needed to vent and he was the only one there to help him out. He'd like to think the problem is solved but, now that he knows what to look for, he sees through the image of the perfect wrappedaroundeachother southern couple they portray. The strain, the worry, the strange sensation of distance despite the apparent closeness. A fire desperately fighting to stay alive.

However, now's not the moment for pondering, now's the moment for tackling the last chorus yet again (hopefully there'll be no more interruptions).

This love has taken its toll on me

She said "goodbye" too many times before

And her heart is breaking in front of me

And I have no choice 'cause I won't say goodbye anymore

There. It's done. It turned out a bit raw and clunky, but it's progress at last. If they practice a couple hours everyday they'll be ready for the show next week. If, if, everyone behaves. Adam can only hope Pharrel's plan of forced bonding bears its fruits. Or at the very least that no one ends up in the hospital.

"We did it! We conquered the beast, we sang the last chorus!", Adam sinsongs, flexing his arms in a victory position.

Miranda, Shakira and Usher glare at him, clearly annoyed by what they deem is unnecessary cheeriness in the face of their current situation. Blake, for his part, has other plans. 

"Not so sure 'bout that, Levine", the man starts. "I think I know what bothered Ran before".

Oh, no, not this again.

"The problem wasn't Shakira, 'twas obviously ya".

There's a mischievous gleam in Blake's eyes. So that's how it is, huh? Adam raises and eyebrow, a smirk setting on his lips.

"Really? What did I do exactly?", he demands, chin up, a mirroring glint in his eyes.

"Ya have a fragile memory, I see. What was it that Miranda said? Someone getting behind? Yeah, ya did", the tamer answers cheekily.

"Speak for yourself, cowboy. I heard you rushing the last line to catch up with all of us", Adam throws the ball back into Blake's court. He hears a hiss, and from the corner of his eye he sees a glimpse of Miranda's glowering face, her anger directed at him because of the nickname he's used for her fiance. Not like he can spare much of his thoughts to her, as his attention is quiclky diverted.

"I don't think so. What ya heard was the sound of my clearly superior voice rising from the pack", Blake leers, his teeth shinning white.

"Oh, please", he huffs rolling his eyes. He also pointedly crosses his arms in order to fully manifest how much of an idiot the guy is.

"Ya know it's true. But don't worry, I totally understand, yar jealousy I mean". Blake's condescending tone ranks in the most obnoxious he's heard in his life. Or it would, if Adam wasn't sure he's being messed with.

"Jealous me? Of you? You gotta be kidding me", he rolls his eyes anew. It's interesting how often the other man elicits this reaction from him. 

"It"s alright, I said. I get it. Someone like ya would obviously envy my deep and smooth voice". 

"Someone like me? What are you implying?". 

"Nothing, yar voice is really high is all", Blake says nonchalantly.

"So?", Adam questions, it's clear where things are going. He's been through conversations like this one all his life. 

"Any problem with my voice being high?". He doesn't even bother to appear pissed off as he did so many times in the past. Whether their friendship will be shallow or mean something in the end is entirely up to Blake. And if thinking this way makes him petty, then that's fine. He doesn't care.

"No, none", the okie shruggs, still smiling brightly. "You do sound like a girl, though". 

Ah, there it is, that sentence. Adam scowls, momentarily shifting his gaze to the ground. How has he not missed those words. He'd pay thousands of dollars to never hear them or any synonyms ever again.

Suddenly, he feels a warm hand close on his shoulder.

"Did I ruffle yar feathers, rockstar?", as he raises his head he's greeted by Blake's sardonic grin but. There's something in his eyes. Something that looks too much like concern. It's baffling.

Adam takes a second to collect himself. Then he fires back.

"You are a mean ol' cowboy, Shelton. Shitting on my craft that way. Oh, this is gonna cost you", he says pulling his best devilish face. 

Blake chortles, the grip on his shoulder tightening as the other man supports a bit of his weight on him. Adam chuckles along, that Santa laugh sure is contageous. For a moment he thinks he hears someone else talking, but the sound's too faint for him to properly listen or pay attention to.

"Fine. Whaddaya want?", the tamer offers as his laugter dies down.

"Umm", he ponders, "you put quite a damper on my day, cowboy. I need to lift my spirits".

"Tequila. Got it".

"You know me well. I'm actually surprised you remember that", he teases.

"Hard not to when ya can't stop babbling 'bout it being better than whiskey and all kinds of bullshit". 

"That's 'cause it IS miles better than that piss water you insist in drinking".

"How dare ya, ya lil' shit? Ya've offended me greatly", Blake gasps and retreats a step, feigning hurt, his hand leaving Adam's shoulder. The guy has a flair for the dramatic. He can appreciate that in a person. Then again, they both ARE circus performers.

"Yeah, yeah, I've disgraced all your ancestors by panning whiskey. Really, Blake, can you be any more stereotypical?", he shakes his head in amusement. If there's one thing he enjoys about their budding friendship is the ease with which they give each other crap.

"Lemme take offense to thay too. It's possible ya haven't noticed but ya're a total stereotype as well, rockstar".

"Not as much a...".

"OKAY, WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?", Usher interrupts out of nowhere -or at least so it seems to him-, clearly perplexed.

Adam and Blake, who until that point have been inmersed in their own bubble, turn to look at the man. His eyebrows are on his hairline, mouth gaping open. Next to him Shakira and Miranda are equally bemused.

"Since when you two get along?!", his friend asks, still astonished.

"Ehh, since the night we got locked in the storage room?", Adam says the tiniest bit sheepish. It's not like he's lied to his friends, however he hasn't been forthcoming about befriending the guy they detest. He's a blunt person most of the time, it's just he hasn't been looking forward to Usher and Shakira regarding him as if he is a fucking traitor. Like they are right now.

Fine. Maybe he's exagerating, though they are certainly glowering at him. He bites his lip, weariness pushing down his shoulders. Can't he be excluded from this narrative he did not choose or desire any part in? (The imp says no). 

He feels a big hand settle on the small of his back, grounding him. He raises his chin to see Blake's reassuring eyes. On the other hand, if there's one thing that worries him about their budding friendship is the ease with which Blake reads him.

"Does it bother y'all? Us being friends?", the tamer cuts to the chase.

"Well...", Shakira starts doubtfully.

"Yes?", Usher and Miranda answer at the same time.

"Why?".

"Isn't it obvious,dear?", his fiancee huffs, undecided between patience and frustration.

"No, it's not. Adam didn't do anything to us after all", Blake states calmly.

"It's a question of loyalty", Shakira tries to explain. "For the people close to you not to be all chummy...".

She doesn't finish as Blake fixes her with a stare. There's a firmness both in his blue eyes and in the grip he has on Adam's back. God knows Adam is fed up with this shit too. He'd like to yell a big "Screw you!" to the three knuckleheads and call it a day. Nevertheless, he can't for two simple reasons. One, Blake'd curse at him as well and back off on his promise of alcohol Adam desperately needs to feel sliding down his throat  
Two, the others'd also probably be quite discontent, to put it mildly. 

He takes a deep sigh, hoping his next words'll have the desired effect.

"I guess the cowboy means we're already friends, there's nothing you can do about it, stop being childish", he sumrises.

There's a brief second of stunned silence before Blake snorts.

"Oh, man. And here I thought ya were gonna say somthing important with that serious-ass face ya had on", the tamer chuckles, "ya're one blunt dude".

"Brevity's the soul of wit", he shruggs, grinning.

From the corner of his eye he catches Shakira, Miranda and Usher's stupefied/incredulous faces, but decides to pay them no mind. He's done that a lot today already, plus it's not like he can, with Blake steering him to the door.

"C'mon, rockstar, let's leave 'em alone while the idea sinks in. You and I have a date with tequila tonight".


	10. Learning to cooperate (Or Miranda Lambert needs a break)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've returned from vacation =D! But on the other hand I'm not quite sure which direction to take from here.  
>  Enjoy♡

He stands outside of the hotel room Blake and Miranda inhabit in L.A. The clerk that guided him there left after knocking the door and announcing his arrival, content with Miranda's acknowledgement and clearly too busy to stay longer than strictly necessary. It's been five minutes since and he's still waiting to come in. 

He looks at his watch. 4:06. It's a pity, really, that he's almost always at least a bit late everywhere and the time he isn't he's "punished" for it. The choice of word may be attributed to Adam's usual overexageration of things; but he knows better, Miranda isn't exactly thrilled by his and Blake's friendship. No matter how hard you try, sometimes (more often than not) you can't introduce logic into these kind of equations.

As Adam heaves a sigh, the door opens at last. 

The tamer is wearing casual clothes, old jeans and a worn out shirt. On her feet simple grey slippers.

"Come in", Miranda says rather bruskely.

"Hi to you too", he greets with a half-hearted grin that's more sarcasm than anything.

She doesn't even bother responding to this and motions for him to sit on the couch. He obeys.

"Would ya like something to drink?", Miranda offers, "Beer, whiskey, water?".

"Water, please", Adam refrains from making the joke on the tip of his tongue about such spirited beverages and southern people. If she were Blake he wouldn't even have any doubts, however, he's certain she won't be of the same mind as her fiance.

Miranda crouches by the minibar, fetching two bottled waters, one of which she hands to him.

"Okay, so, do we start? Or, if you need to warm up...", he trails off turning his bottle awkwardly in his palms.

"I'm fine, let's just get to it".

Her tone is dry. By the way she slouches her shoulders he can tell she's bracing herself for a difficult time. Like practicing her parts with Adam will be an excruciating task. He has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. People calling him a drama queen from now on will be faced with a firm, indisputable, "pot meet kettle". Damnit. He came in peace, he reminds himself. He came not only to rehearse, he came to talk.

So he breathes in and begins singing. Next is Miranda's turn and then they come together for the chorus. Their harmonies are getting better, but there's still something there that feels stiff, unwilling. It's clear they have a lot of work ahead.

They go through their portions of the song a couple more times before Miranda stands up from the bed, looking frustrated.

"Screw this", she spits.

Adam glances at her, slightly dumbfounded. He expects a tirade of other such expletives, but it never arrives. Instead he watches as Miranda draws a bottle of whiskey from the minibar and takes a chugg of it. She wipes her wet lips and a stray drop off her chin with her hand. Then she extracts her phone from her jeans' pocket and dials a number. She taps one foot against the floor. The whiskey remains tightly held within her fingers. Her eyes have a glassy quality to them, probably she's blinking back tears.

"Hello, Carrie? Can ya come here? Please hurry, I need to talk to ya".

Miranda's voice doesn't waver, and yet there's frailty to it. Tiredness.

"No, no, it's..yeah, he's here but, the hell, I can't deal with this right now!". 

"What do ya mean ya can't come? C'mon Carrie, it's important!". 

While the tamer gets desperate, Adam's prescence keeps on being olympically ignored. The scene is bordering on supremely uncomfortable but he's scared to move due to the woman's instability.

"Please, I know I've been asking too much favours from ya lately but...", there's a pause, "ONE OR TWO HOURS?! Ya gotta be kidding me, that's the best ya can do?!".

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I'm just..okay, I get it, I'll wait, see ya".

Miranda finishes the call with a long sigh followed by another swig of whiskey. Only then her attention returns to Adam. 

"How're ya liking the show?".

"Excuse me?".

"I'm asking, do ya enjoy watching people make a fool out of themselves?".

He simply holds her gaze, stupidly caught off guard. Her pupils harden with an anger that seethes from inside her. Not answering may not have been the right move.

"Get out. Now", the blonde grits through her teeth, leaving the bottle on the coffee table and bringing her hands to her hips.

"What about practice? We barely began", he attempts a weak protest.

"I don't give a fuck about practice. It's useless anyway", she dismisses him with a pointed glare.

Adam hesitates for a second. Thruth is they ain't gonna accomplish anything while the tamer is in this state. He raises to his feet and slowly makes way for the door, prompting Miranda to renew her tapping on the floor. As he's placing his fingers on the handle he stops and turns back.

"Why?", he says. "Why do you think it won't fly?".

The woman rolls her eyes.

"We make for shitty duet partners", she states matter of factly.

"Really? You can tell that in the twenty minutes I've been here?", he questions finally losing his -admittedly limited- patience.

"From the start it was a bad idea".

Adam lets out a frustrated, incredulous laugh.

"Goddamnit, are you five?".

"How dare ya...".

"Get a fucking grip", he swiftly cuts her off. He steps closer to Miranda, to the centre of the room.

"I know you don't like me, and you don't need to for this to work. But I wish you could act your age instead of like a fucking child", he rants.

"I'm not!", the tamer shouts indignant.

"In what fucking world is throwing a tantrum and calling your friend 'cause you don't want me here being mature?".

Adam crosses his arms, expecting again a tirade of accusations and curses. What he does get is a front row seat to Miranda breaking down at last. The ire that shook her fades, leaving sadness in its wake. Two tears slip from her eyes and she doesn't wipe them away, lets them follow their course.

"Ya can't..possibly understand...", the tamer manages, her voice clipped, before plopping on the bed, covering her face with her hands and begin crying.

Adam has never been subtle or one of those people that can successfully convey his thoughts without hurting others' feelings or is able to comfort them that well. So Miranda's reaction leaves him not knowing quite what to do. He extends an arm tentatively, wondering if he should calm her down, however in that instant the woman cries harder and he aborts the attempt. There's not even a hankerchief he can offer.

Adam pathetically stands in the centre of the room waiting for the tamer's tears to subside. Minutes slide past sloowly.

Then, amidst the sobbing he hears something like a moan but different. When it happens again he recognizes it for what it is, a snort. It is followed by soft giggling, he can be coloured baffled now. 

Meanwhile, Miranda cleans the tears and snot off her face with the sleeve of her shirt. The little makeup she had on is smeared, fortunately that only means her mascara and eyeliner have left her "racoon eyes". Had she been wearing lipstick she'd look like a sad clown. The thought makes him stiffle a laughter, which he covers by way of a cough, averting his gaze from her.

When he glances back at Miranda she has a small, tired smile on her lips. She leans forward on the bed and reaches for the whiskey again, her fingers a tad shaky as she grasps the bottle and takes it to her mouth to sip a little of it. After she's done she briefly closes her eyes and her whole body shudders. Something in Adam's gut sinks watching this scene.

"We can practice tomorrow if you want", he says quietly. "I'll have to meet Shakiran and Usher in an hour anyway". 

"Sorry", Miranda says in turn, voice jittery and almost inaudible.

"I took my frustratiom on you".

"More like broke down on me", he mirrors her smile.

The blonde's grin widens.

"Ya're a cheeky thing, I see. No wonder Blake likes you".

"I regret telling you this, but, he and I being friends? It was all a practical joke", he asserts with complete seriousness.

"Yeah, right, y'all obviously hate each other", Miranda laughs at him raising an eyebrow.

He chuckles as well.

"Shit, I thought I had you there".

"For the record, ya're a terrible liar".

"Eh, I've heard that before", he shruggs.

Miranda pats the spot beside her on the bed, and it takes Adam a second to understand the gesture as the invitation to sit it is. He accepts it, lowers himself gingerly next to her.

"Soo...".

His intent to start a conversation seems to fall on deaf ears because the woman doesn't look at him. She takes gulp after gulp of whiskey, sighing resignedly after each one. Adam begins fiddling with his fingers anxiously, allowing some of his worse impulses to control the premises momentarily. 

A minute later, when he feels a hand lightly pressed on his arm, he realizes he's been doing a full-body movement, complete with his legs propping up and down and a slow sway. He turnd his head towards Miranda. The bottle is gone again from her hands.

"Are ya okay?", she asks with a hint of worry.

"It 's alright", he waves off, "I get a little restless sometimes". 

The tamer eyes him curiously, releasing his arm. Silence occupies the room once more and he can't take it any longer.

"Don't tell me if you don't wanna, but how are you and Blake doing lately?", Adam blurts out.

Lady Luck may generally enjoy messing and shitting on Adam, however this time it appears to spare him, providing Miranda with no beverages to spit on him out of pure astonishment.

"I cannot believe it, he TOLD YOU ABOUT THAT?!", the blonde half speaks half shouts absolutely exasperated.

"By 'that' are you refering to your relationship trouble? 'Cause all I know is pretty superficial", he admits.

"Ya shouldn't know ANYTHING. He's an idiot. We agreed to keep this to ourselves and he goes and blabbers about it to ya, someone he's been friends with for a month and previously hated".

"I guess you telling your problems to Carrie, who's been your friend for two months is okay, then".

Miranda opens her mouth and closes it, probably realizing that she's being kind of a hypocrite here. She drops her gaze to the ground, focusing on her grey slippers.

"I'm sorry", Adam whispers.

"What for? I thought it was clear I'd been the rude one", Miranda says, drawing her eyes back to him.

"If everthing was fine and dandy you wouldn't 've reacted the way you did today", he explains.

She regards him for a second amd turns her head the opposite side.

"I don't want to talk right now", the tamer remarks tersely.

"Do you want me to leave?", he offers one more time, almost sure of her affirmative.

"No".

Suddenly Miranda's face is buried on his shoulder and she's bawling again. It astounds him as much as breaks his heart to see a woman that always appears so strong be this vulnerable. He can only imagine what it's like for Blake.

When her crying intensifies he embraces her loosely, trying to make her feel secure without smothering her. He closes his eyes, savouring the tiredness that's settled in his bones.

\- - - - - -

There's no way for him to know, and he experiences it like years, but it's merely fifteen minutes after that there's a rap on the door and Carrie enters the hotel room as if she owned the place. Her moderately dishevelled clothes and windswept hair tell of her rush to come in her friends aide. As she walks in she does a double take on Adam of all people hugging Miranda.

"What the hell...", she utters, shocked.

"Hey, Carrie, hi", he starts awkwardly. "I'm glad you made it".

Alerted by his words, Miranda raises her head to look at the vaulter, her body remaining put in Adam's hold.

"Carrie", she sniffles.

A scowl forms in Carrie's face, a scowl whose target is him. Fuck. Does she think...?

"Uhm, I'm gonna go now", he speaks, untangling himself from Miranda and getting to his feet. Panic is building in his insides.

He doesn't reach very far, though. Before he can walk more than two steps towards the exit Carrie slaps him, effectively stunning him in place.

"What did you do to her?! Are you trying to take advantage of my friend?!", she yells.

"Carrie!", the tamer runs to her side and grabs her by the arm, "It's not that way, he was helping me".

The vaulter zeroes in on Miranda's red-rimmed eyes and the dried tear tracks on her cheeks.

For his part Adam runs a hand carefully over his own abused cheek. Lady Luck hadn't spared him it turns out. She was just waiting for the punchline.


	11. Miscommunication (Or the ones who left)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feed me, I'm a slut for comments <3 <3

In hindsight, he’s got to admit that, not only does he posses terrible luck but he’s really stupid. Like monumentally. Even if he was tired, even if he needed to let off steam -and he couldn’t go to Shakira as usual for obviuos reasons-, how in the seven hells did he think talking to Jesse about the whole ordeal with Miranda was a good idea? Because relaying Jesse –or Mickey- any kind of information, personal or otherwise, is as well as speaking to James himself. And by now everyone knows that means said information gets spread like wildfire over the circus, becoming more and more distorted as it travels from mouth to mouth.

In other words, he fucked up. Shakira and Usher got wind of him having been slapped and went right away to confront Carrie and Miranda. Worst thing is that they didin’t ask HIM anything, didn’t at least try to corroborate the news circulating around.

Two days since the incident, and one since his –slightly intoxicated- talk with Jesse, he comes to work in the morning, walking unhurriedly, believing everything’s fine, only to be greeted by a very displeased Blake. The man’s frown and steely eyes speak of bad news.

“What’s wrong?”, he questions warily.

“I was hoping ya’d tell me”, is all the warning he receives before the tamer firmly grabbs his wrist and he starts dragging him somewhere. The sudden action catches him off guard and he finds himself unable to resist. He does protest, though.

“Blake, where the hell are you taking me?”.

“C’mon, dude, stop”.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!”.

Blake doesn’t answer, keeps on pulling at his wrist, quickens his pace; which makes Adam sort of continously stumble forward as he walks, barely managing not to faceplant on the floor each time.

Finally, they reach their destination, one of the secondary tents mainly used for practice. Inside another pandemonium awaits.

Adam can almost call the scene habitual. There’s just one new element added to the mix: Carrie.

“HE WAS TRYING TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF MIRANDA!”, the vaulter yells.

“ADAM’D NEVER DO THAT, YOU DIRTY LIAR!”, Shakira shouts back.

“DAMN RIGHT”, Usher contributes, “YOU WERE THE ONE WHO SLAPPED HIM!”.

“’CAUSE HE DID SOMETHING!”.

“Y’all, please, listen to me!”, Miranda attempts to be heard amidst all the screaming, “Y’all are wrong!”. No one pays attention to her, and Adam can totally emphatize with that.

“NO, HE DIDN’T!”.

“THEN WHY WAS SHE CRYING?!”.

“WHATEVER IT WAS YOU CAN’T BLAME ADAM FOR IT!”, Usher replies indignantly.

“OF COURSE I…”.

“Hey! I brought Adam y’all!”, Blake informs the quarreling trio plus his fiancee, his voice loud yet ominously calm. Only then he releases his grip on Adam.

Everyone turns to look at him. The different expressions etched on the four faces Paint a compelling picture on why being directly involved in one of these fights is infinitely more troublesome than simply watching from the sidelines. Carrie is once again scowling at him; Usher’s furrowed brows convey righteous fury for his sake; Shakira is a mixture of the latter and worried eyes; and Miranda is biting her lip as she wrings her hands, undecided between helping his case or silently judging him for being a blabbermouth and causing more strife (in his defense the arguement could’ve still ocurred thanks to the vaulter’s bad opinion of him).

“Adam, why didn’t you say anything?”, Shakira asks as she approaches him and takes his hands in hers. For all that crap she spouted about treating others like the adults they are, she sure has a way of babying him. 

“Yeah, finding out through gossip kinda stung”, Usher goes to his side as well. Perhaps part of his fury was aimed at Adam too.

“I wanted to avoid…”.

“Another fight like this one?”, Blake interrupts once more. “Shouldn’t have talked to James, then. Or was it Gwen?”.

For the trapeze artist is the second pair of ears one has to be cautious of if one doesn’t want their secrets to end on everybody’s mouths.

“It was Jesse”, he admits dropping his gaze to his hands. He tries to extricate them from his friend’s grasp but fails. Shaki isn’t letting go any moment soon.

“Maybe you didn’t want to avoid shit. Maybe you wanted to play yourself like the victim of the story!”, Carrie accuses him.

“He is!”, Usher and Shakira mirror Adam’s thoughts.

Honestly, it ain’t his fault destiny hates him so much. There is the possibility he could make some sort of sacrifice to appease whichever deity he’s apparently offended. He could lay off on sarcasm for a month.

Who is he kidding? Sarcasm and irony are the only things that make his luckless existence bearable.

“Still, telling what happened to Jesse”, Miranda says, her tone reprobatory. As if she absolutely has no part in the current situation. Or it wasn’t kind of her fault how things turned out on practice day.

It maddens Adam. Sure, all of them can bring any shitstorms they so desire, involve any innocent bystander into their meses, and nothing’s wrong; but when he commits a teeny tiny mistake, then everyone loses their minds. What a bunch of hypocrites.

“You know what? You’re right Miranda”, he spews, his gaze cold and hard, “I should’ve kept my trap shut. It was idiotic of me to think we could handle this like adults”.

Reading the stiffness and anger in his body, Shakira finally lets go.

“Airing out your dirty laundry doesn’t seem awful mature to me”, Blake retorts, apparently stealing Carrie’s words from her mouth as it is left hanging open a second before being closed again.

Adam pinches his nose as he huffs the most frustrated sigh he’s ever let out in his entire life until that point. He cannot say he didn’t expect this reaction from the cowboy –it is well within the realm of chances giving the tension between the couple- it’s just he hoped a little more trust had been placed on him. Which is clearly not the case.

“Adam would NEVER do that on purpouse”, Shakira declares vehemently, craning her neck a tad to glare at Blake, her blonde curls swinging lightly with the movement.

“MY dirty laundry”, Adam says at the same time, “What is my crime exactly? Trying to befriend your fiancee? Or comforting her when she was crying ‘cause your hillbilly ass can’t get its shit together? Tell me”.

That might’ve been a bit too much.

Suddenly, Blake is up in his face, grabbbing him by the collar of his white tee with both hands. He’s also being semi-lifted from the floor, his toes the only ones touching it. Adam feels paralyzed, noting absently how fast the guy is for his size. Must be all those years working with beasts. In the background he hears the other four’s responses to the events:

“How dare ya say that ‘bout Blake, you bastard?!”, Miranda yells.

“ASSHOLE”, Carrie curses at him.

“LET GO OF HIM!”, Shakira and Usher scream in chorus.

“Listen, Adam, if we’re gonna be friends. I’m gonna have to ask for some respect. ‘Cause right now ya’re crossing many lines”, Blake tells him in a low growl.

A shiver runs down his spine and goosebumps blossom across his skin. He’s not sure why Blake is mad anymore. He thought Miranda was the reason for his attitude, that he was jealous. However, something is amiss. He senses an ulterior motive behind the tamer’s anger. A sort of primal fear has settled in his gut, and he decides to obey what it suggests to him. He brings his hands to Blake’s chest, fists the fabric there –flannel-, uses this as leverage to aim a powerful kick to the man’s left shin.

“OWW!”.

The attack serves its purpouse, allowing Adam to scape the other’s grip, to release the breath he’s been holding. Inmediatly after he feels Shakira’s soft hands on his arm.

“Adam, are you alright?”, she inquires with eyes even more concerned than before.

Next to her, Usher is also gazing at him worriedly, before turning to glower at the couple of tamers plus the vaulter. 

Opposite him, Carrie is glaring at Usher as well, while Miranda stands awkwardly by her fiance who’s rubbing his injured limb with a grimace of pain. Yup, wearing combat boots instead of sneakers had been a good call.

“Adam?”, Shakira shakes his arm, trying to capture his attention, but he’s still in shock. Somehow reality seems blurred, every sound muffled, every movement rarefied. Tiny droplets of sweat trickle ever so slowly down his back and his hands tremble slightly.

Then Blake stands up. There’s a flicker of rage directed his way that quickly vanishes as soon as the man takes him in. He must look really shitty, because Blake’s face twists into one of remourse and guilt. It sickens him, infuriates him. He shruggs his friend off, tasting the white hot ire building inside his veins. Shakira gazes at him dumbfounded and he ignores her. His focus is solely on one assholish cowboy.

“SHELTON YOU STEAMING PIECE OF CRAP”, Adam lashes out, “FUCK YOU”. 

A stunned silence follows. It’s obvious no one foresaw such a pissed reaction from him. He has to give himself some credit, he held on long enough before exploding. He has a ton of stuff he’s been wanting, dying to say. Where should he start? Maybe with “leave me out out of all your pointless drama, I’m not your therapist!”? Or perhaps he should continue swearing. That last one is rather temting.

Nonetheless, he doesn’t do any of the two. Instead he painstakingly gahters what he has left of self control. It is hard, the rational voice in his mind barely audible amongst all the chaos governing it. He’s about to give in until he reminds himself why he needs control. For the same reason he hasn’t blown off earlier, to avoid adding the final nail to the coffin and catapulting everything to hell. Yeah, right, no. It isn’t ‘cause of that anymore. Truthfully, he feels a crisis coming and all he wishes for is to go home and try to cool down. This time he’s got it good, so it’ll be a long hour before he can manage. Fuck. Destiny surely loathes him.

Adam takes in a ragged breath. The others are watching him expectantly. But he’s not going to contribute anything else to the shitshow. He clicks his tongue, clenches his fists tightly. Then he turns on his heels and scrams.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Even with the quick long strides he uses to advance, he doesn’t get very far. Only a minute since his departure, he hears both loud steps behind him and a familiar twang.

“Adam, hey! Please, stop! I wanna talk to ya!”.

“Fuck off, dickhead!”, he answers without looking back.

If he hopes that’ll be the end of it, he’s wrong. The tamer speeds up, his long legs helping him get ahead of Adam, effectively blocking his path.

“Hey, hold yar horses a sec”, Blake says, “I’m sorry, Adam, ok? I didn’t mea…”.

“Save your bullshit to your fiancee, asshole!”, he cuts him off with a yell.

He tries to leave but Blake stands in his way again. Motherfucker.

“I know. Ya’re right”.

Apparently he’s just said that aloud, but what draws his attention is the man’s contrite tone.

“This was all my fault, I acted like a douche”.

Adam gives Blake a once over. Slouched shoulders, hands shoved in his jeans’ pockets, eyebrows knitted together in self-reproach, lips firmly pressed in a firm line fading downward. The cowboy’s whole demeanor distinctly reminds him of something.

Giving in to his fluctuating emotions hasn’t been this pleasant since a while ago. Laughter bubbles up from his chest unfiltered and reckless, small clear giggles.

“What?”, Blake requests completely baffled by this succession of events.

“Just now you totally acted as if you were my boyfriend”.

The simple reply sits well with Blake, his face relaxing into an amused grin. The one he uses to tease him.

“Ya flatter me rockstar, but I’m taken”.

“Really? Thought you were gonna play the straight card”, he rolls his eyes.

“Boobs are indeed awesome and always a good arguement”.

“I agree”, he chuckles prompting Blake to do the same.

For a moment they stay there in the field outside the principal tent –located 54 yards or so from the the tent they were in-, laughing companionably.

Still, even though he’s calmed down a fair bit, the necessity to go home to deal with himself remains urgent.

“Blake, I need to leave”, he states feeling anxiety surging back with a vengueance.

“I’ll drive ya”, the tamer says determinedly and unexpectedly.

“It’s fine, dude, I can take the bus like always”.

Blake shoots him an unimpressed look.

Adam wants to protest. He’s not a child. He’s been fending for himself long before the cowboy came into the picture. If he wants to say he’s and adult, that he’s progressed at all, he has to stop relying on others for every little thing. Mostly, it’s the fact he’s quite the intimate person who finds it hard to share his moments of weakness.

“C’mon, Adam. Let me make it up to ya”, Blake insists, worry clearly etched on his features.

“Okay, whatever”, he gives in once more. All he wishes for now is to be safe in his apartment where no one can see him fall apart.

Blake smiles encouragingly at him and they set on their way.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The ride on Blake’s truck is quiet and oddly tense. Or at least that’s how Adam perceieves it. He doesn’t know whether or not to be relieved the taller man didn’t turn the radio on and tune in a country country station. It’d certainly bring in a focus, yet in his state, would it be of any help? He settles for shaking his leg up and down, pointedly gazing out the window.

At last they arrive to their destination, and he gets of inmediately. He turns to say goddbye to Blake, but is surprised by him getting down too.

“What are you doing?”, he questions cocking his head to the side.

“Walking ya to yar door”, is the matter of fact reply.

A part of his brain would like to quip about southern manners, but this train of thought is rapidly discarded as he approaches closer and closer to the edge.

They end up ridding the stairs to the sixth floor in renewed silence. Their steps echo throughout the old building. Almost there.

Several minutes later Adam’s door is on sight. The rusty 6D plaque has seldom seemed so lovely.

“Well, see you tomorrow”, Adam bids Blake goodbye over his shoulder as he begins to open the locks guarding his place.

“If ya need anything don’t hesitate to call”, the other man tells him.

“Sure”, he agrees easily, more out of politeness –which, the vindictive side of him supplies, Blake currently doesn't deserve- than a real intention of taking him up on his offer.

Then, he closes the door.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Plick, plack, plick, plack, plick, plack. Diminutive drops of water leak from the faucet of the bathroom sink. The sound they make reberverates loudly against the tiled walls and floor.

How much time has passed, he doesn’t know, but he’s feeling marginally better. Adam uncurls in the bathtub and props himself to sit upright. He firmly resists the urge to hug his knees, instead stretching his legs as far as possible. Per usual he’s fully clothed. His roommate’ll probably scold him for entering the tub with his boots on the hundredth time. Although he understands her rationale for that, his feet are too sensitive to tolerate direct contact at the moment. When crisis like the one strikes, a gradual enveloping chill seems to be what his body requires.

Adam slings his legs over the side of the tub and gets to his feet. Better to get clean before catching a few hours of restless sleep. He opens the faucet, starts washing his face. Maybe he scrubs a little harder than he ought to. He turns the tap off. The fluffy mauve towel is a welcome caress on his skin. He gazes at his sorry reflection in the mirror. Red rimmed eyes, complexion pale as a ghost. Biting his lips is a familiar method to shut down the nagging voices in his head. He leans his weight on the sink. Closes his eyes and crosses his arms over the old comfy hoodie his mom gifted him years ago. Attempts to vacate his mind of thought.

RIIIIIINNNG! Mercilessly the doorbell pulls him out of his reverie.

He groans. Why can’t he be left alone today? He forces himself to open his eyelids, heaves a huge sigh. Shakira’s habit of forgetting her keys –coupled with her obnoxiously long manner of ringing the bell- is becoming insufferable.

Of course she must be worried for his sake, and even if he appreciates her concern, it isn’t anything he needs now.

RIIIIIINNNG!

“I’m coming! Gee”, he protests.

Adam draggs his feet to the door. It better be the last time Shakira forgets her crap.

However, Lady Luck, ever the trickster, has prepared a wee surprised for him.

Adam turns the handle and standing on the other side is none but one Blake Shelton.

“Hullo”, the tamer says sheepishly in the face of his bemusement.

“What the fuck’re you doing here?”.

“I brought food”.

Blake extends a paperbag carefully folded to keep its contents warm.

“Mc Donalds?”, he raises an eyebrow.

“’Twas the closest sorta aceptable option”, the man shruggs. “I know ya normally eat all this healthy stuff, and I don’t mind getting ya something else if ya’d like, huh?”.

Adam’s stomach growls with hunger, the decition already made for him, a little smile tugging at Blake’s lips. Must be past midday. He could include a bite before going to bed.

“So, can I come in?”, Blake asks tentatively.

Adam regards him a second and then nods.

They settle on the couch rather than on the small kitchen table, munching down on their respective burgers while they watch TV.

“I’m sorry”, Blake spits out of the blue.

“For?”, he replies with a tone that tries for innocence albeit poorly disguises his leftover resentment.

“Again, I was a massive jerk to ya. I was in the dark ‘bout what’d happened, the rumours were confusing, I didn’t know what was true and I blamed all ya b…”.

“Wait, wait”, he interrupts Blake’s rambling, “Time out. Let’s go back to you being in the dark and shit. You mean you weren’t aware of ‘the incident’ until today?”.

Blake shakes his head.

“Miranda didn’t tell me. I think maybe she didn’t wanna worry me”.

Adam’s hand slowly reaches his forehead.

“She believed hiding things and letting you find out through gossip was the best choice?”, he moans exasperated.

“I understand why she did that though”, Blake remarks, a sad grin on his mouth. The heavy weight of his struggling relationship has him looking miserable and weary.

“I don’t”.

He speaks the words like a demand, contrary to his usual comforming with what the person wants to offer. Pity he’s way past caring if he hurts others’ feelings.

“I..there’s been a few fellas before who’ve gotten closer to me just to score with Ran. Must be ‘cause I’m a friendly guy, they thought it’d be a piece of cake”, Blake sighs and continues, “Still, I should’ve never doubted ya, not even for a split second. I see it now, from the start yar heart’s always been in the right place”.

“Spare me the flowery words, Shelton”. Adam, scoffs at him, unwilling to renounce to his anger yet.

“Ya don’t forgive me”, the man states serenely. As though he is resigned to this result.

“No”.

He returns to his burger, biting chunks of it almost viciously. Blake follows suit, taking more measured morsels. The atmosphere feels proverbially thick as butter.

“Not if you can’t trust me”, Adam whispers between nibbles.

It appears to be the cue the tamer has been waiting for.

“I DO trust ya, Adam, I really do”.

“Sure didn’t look like it to me”, he raises his voice, turning to Blake.

“Can’t a man make a mistake? I thought the only real friend I got here was sticking the knife in my back”.

“Isn’t Luke…”, he begins to object in order to deter his resolve from swaying under Blake’s honesty.

“It’s different with him. We fool around, do stupid things, but I cannot talk to him the way I do with ya. Funny ‘cause I’ve been his ‘friend’ longer and ya’re the one who truly gets me".

Holy fuck is the guy a charmer. Suddenly his defenses have been obliterated, squashed ruthlessly into the ground.

“Guess flattery will get you everywhere”, he allows himself a light jab, a timid grin blooming on his lips.

“How mean, rockstar”, Blake says in mock offense, “I was being sincere”.

“Were you? Damn, now I have cavities”.

“Forgot rockstars are crude soulless bastards”.

“Hey!”.

Blake chuckles.

“Don’t worry little buddy, I know ya’re pretty sensitive behind yar cockiness”.

He rolls his eyes and then he backtracks.

“Little? Dude, i’m six feet”.

“Ya'll always be this wittle scrawny thing to me”, Blake babytalks him, “Yes, you are”.

“Ugh, stop! You’re gross”, he wrinkles his nose, barely able to contain a facesplitting smile. In response Blake guffaws and he ends up laughing along.

As their laughter dies off, Adam notices the leftover residue of their meal scattered over the coffe table. He stands up to gather and throw it into the trashcan. However, before he can leave the room Blake’s on his feet too.

“Adam, wait”.

“What?”.

“Remember that night at the storage closet?”, for the first time since he arrived Blake looks nervous.

“Yeah”.

“How I told ya ‘bout that kid in highschool that was gay and shot himself?”.

“Yeah. Where are you going?”.

“I kinda lied”.

Adam wants to punch him. So he bullshitted him to fall in his good graces?

“It wasn’t just someone I knew, it…it was my older brother”.

The blood runs out of his body. He definetely didn’t see this coming.

“Blake”, he gapes.

“It is my biggest regret. He was my best friend in the whole world and I didn’t do a damn thing for ‘im. I let the fear of my dad make me a coward. Let him die”.

“Blake, why didn’t you tell me from the start?”.

“I was going to and I chickened out. Only ya and Miranda know”.

Adam gazes at him. At all the devastating hurt he’s been living with and hiding far too long.

“Blake”, he says softly, “do you need a hug?”.

“I’m fine, I ain’t crying yet”, the tamer attempts a humour he obviously doesn’t feel.

“I might. Comfort me”.

The man’s eyes seem to thank him, his own replying it’s no problem, he can be vulnerable and blame it on him. Next Blake is crowding his space and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, his head coming to rest on the left one. Both of them sigh as they settle in the embrace; Adam distantly wonders how is it that even when he’s feeling like absolute crap he has to care for others. Regardless, he finds Blake’s warmth and strong hold of his back incredibly soothing. Slowly tiredness pulls his eyelids down.

“Cowboy”, he murmurs.

“Hm?”.

“I hope things work out with Miranda”.

“They will, don’t worry. I’ve got this”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter started out much lighter and comedic than it ended up being. I know not when the angst came in, honestly. Anyway I hope you enjoyed :)


	12. Miscommunication (Or the ones who stayed)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little companion piece to last chapter from Shakira's POV. Enjoy :3!
> 
> P.S: Can y'all believe I've been writing Pharrell's name wrong all this time? Why did no one tell me ;-;?

Shakira hears the rumours straight from Gwen. Adam supposedly making a move on Miranda and Carrie slapping him. A swirl of emotions springs inside her. Surprise, anger, disappointment. How come her roommate didn’t say a word to her? Aren’t they best friends who’ve been through thick and thin together? Lately there’s a small distance between them, which she can’t help but blame Blake Shelton for.

When Usher finds her she’s frowning, her teeth biting her lower lip hard. Her lover’s eyebrows shoot up showing both his confusion with her unexpected mood –yesterday they had had a lovely date night- and his ignorance of the current gossip.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he places a hand on her shoulder, a placating gesture she shrugs off.

“So you really haven’t heard anything”.

“About..?” there’s a hint of dread in his voice. Like he intuits the true nature of the information he lacks.

She sighs.

“It’s going around the circus that Adam tried to ‘seduce’ Miranda and so Carrie slapped him”.

“Ehh?!” Usher’s dumbfounded.

It brings a smile to her face since she had the same reaction. Nice to know they are that strongly connected as a couple. All the books and articles she’s read pertaining the theme put great importance on sharing many Common points with your partner. Then again, perhaps her boyfriend is just baffled by the unbelievable statement.

“Who told you that?” he recovers.

“Gwen, though there’s no way to know if she was the one who started the rumours or it was James”.

“They must be lies, right?”

“Of course! I’ve known Adam for years, he out of everyone would never facilitate cheating!” she rants getting madder and madder by the minute.

“And the slap? True or false?”

“Something tells me that part’s true. And I bet not really his fault”.

Shakira begins pacing around angrily outside the women’s trailer where they currently find themselves.

“It must’ve been one of those snakes who invented the story, to make themselves look good”, she mutters under her breath.

“So let’s go confront them. See if they feel like lying to our faces”.

She gazes at him, watches his ire building and feels pleased. Nice to do things as a couple.

A small voice in her mind would like to protest maybe they should ask Adam what happened. Yet she shuts it out and fate follows its course.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

When Adam departs, they are all left reeling from his outburst of –she has to admit- earned fury. The first to react is Blake, who quickly leaves after him. She is about to do the same, propelled by her concern at discerning the signs of a panic attack in Adam. However, Usher’s hand on her wrist stops her.

“It’s alright”, he says, “He can handle it”.

“But, but”, she wishes she could be as convinced as he is.

“Let them deal with their problems, they are good friends, they’ll be fine”, her boyfriend reassures her kissing the top of her head.

She wants to object that she’s not so certain because he doesn’t know Adam as well and thus can’t tell he’s going through a bad moment.

“Ehem”, Carrie rasps.

They focus their attention on the other two women again.

Shakira speaks before anyone can beat her to it.

“Do you still think Adam’s the one at fault, Underwood?” Her tone is challenging, daring the vaulter to keep running her mouth.

“And if I do?” Carrie says sharply.

“Quit it, Carrie!” Miranda stomps the ground with her boot.

Three perplexed set of eyes are on her immediately.

“I’ve alreaddy made it clear he was just helping me!”

“By holding you?” incredulity drips from Carrie’s voice.

“It was a stupid hug, for God’s sake!” the tamer’s patience is gone, “We were s’pposed to practice our song but I took out my stress on him and he was a perfect gentleman ‘bout it when he could’ve been a total dick!”.

“What if he had second intentions?” the vaulter insists stubbornly.

Usher cannot contain a sardonic laugh.

“Will you listen to your friend and stop being a bitch?” he says.

“I don’t take advice from douchebags”.

“I’m with him actually”, Miranda asserts calmly.

“Well, that’s new”, Shakira chimes in, awed by the bizarre development.

“Ya’d stand by the guy that insulted me”, Carrie retorts bitterly, “What kinda friend are ya?”

“A real one, not an ass-kisser that says everything ya do is right. I really like ya Carrie but ya’re being petty”.

“No, I ain’t!”

“Yes, yes you are!” Shakira calls her out, “You know you’re wrong yet you don’t wanna admit it! You dislike Adam because he’s our friend and you dislike us ‘cause Lambert does!”.

“That’s what a good person should do, support their loved ones!”

“I’m not feeling very supported when ya won’t listen to me!” the tamer rolls her eyes.

“Why’re y’all teaming up against me?!” Carrie complains a mix of unbelieving and hysterical.

“Oh, no, you don’t get to play victim now!” Usher groans, his tone perhaps more aggressive than necessary.

Two fat tears start sliding down the vaulter’s cheeks. Shakira looks at the anger in her face, her confusion, and a clear sense of unfairness telegraphed in her green eyes. It dawns on her. The same way it is dawning on Miranda and Usher as she turns to them. Their feud has not only worn them out, but everyone around as well. There lies the reason for Pharrell’s choice of groups to sing on Saturday. Undoubtedly the consequences have been greater for their close friends. Forced to pick sides, constantly caught in a damned if you do damned if you don’t where each step they take is somehow conducing to more trouble. What a gigantic mess they’ve created of such a stupid grudge which could’ve been resolved weeks ago were it not for their bloated egos. Out of the four Blake is the only one that’s begun to make amends, mostly thanks to Adam in truth.

“Sorry, Underwood”, she says contritely.

The vaulter shoots her a bewildered glance but otherwise keeps weeping. Miranda walks gingerly to her and offers a paper tissue that’s promptly accepted.

“I’m sorry, Carrie”, she says softly, “I was a fool; ya were just trying to help, weren’t ya?”

The woman nods, sniffing into the tissue.

“It’s okay; ya don’t have to worry anymore. We-the fighting is over right, y’all?” Miranda waits for her and Usher’s replies.

“Of course”, she agrees.

“Yeah. By the way, I’m sorry too. For calling you a bitch and all”, her lover also extends an olive branch.

Carrie’s eyes go over them and a tiny sigh of relief escapes her throat. It brings a smile to their faces. Miranda rubs soothing circles on her back to calm her down, getting herself wrapped in an embrace as a result. Carrie resumes crying on her shoulder. Miranda’s view is glossing with tears too.

Usher taps on the heartwarming moment by slinging an arm round her waist and she snuggles into his chest. Oh, Shakira thinks, this might be it. The knife-thrower might be the one.

“Let’s start over, everyone”, she whispers contentedly.

“Yeah”.

“Yes”.

“Mhm, sniff”.

“Ya should apologize to Adam”, Miranda reminds Carrie, “I reckon ya two would get on well”.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Shakira bids her boyfriend goodbye on her doorstep with a sweet kiss. It’s temporary, later in the evening they’ll meet for a training session. More than likely without Adam. When she last saw him he was in pretty bad shape. But woe to them if any of the two suggest postponing the training, the other contortionist would get super pissed at them babying him. This, while true, goes against her instincts as his longtime friend.

Once inside the apartment, she leaves her bag on the kitchen table and heads to Adam’s room to check how he’s doing.

What she, for the love of God, never in her life expected is to find Blake Shelton sitting on the corner of her roommate’s bed, watching him as he sleeps. There are worry lines in his forehead contrasting Adam’s peaceful mien. 

“Ehmm...” she gapes, the sound loud enough for Blake to turn her way.

“Hi”, the man grins sheepishly as he stands, “Was wondering when ya’d come. I couldn’t quite leave rockstar here alone”.

“What happened?” Shakira questions, implicitly inquiring for all the events she missed since Adam left the tent that morning.

“I wasn’t present for the worst, only took him home and came back an hour and a half ago to bring ‘im some food”.

This comment strikes a pleasant chord in her; the guy seemingly the southern –midwestern-gentleman Adam talked him up to be. Now that she’s letting the resentment and jealousy go she can appreciate it.

“He fell asleep on the couch?” she states rather than asks knowingly.

“Not really”, the tamer remarks, a hand scratching at the back of his neck, “He wanted a hug, ya know, for comfort, and he passed out in my arms. Must’ve been exhausted”.

The declaration shocks her, since their friend –yes, their- is usually adverse to human touch during his crisis.

“One thing I noticed is the little buddy’s weight. Thought I was carrying a feather to this bedroom. Does he eat anything?” Blake adds pensively.

Shakira cannot help the good natured smile that forms on her lips. Hearing the six foot contortionist and juggler be called small is pretty funny.

“Oh, he EATS, believe me. His stomach might as well be a mini black hole”, she snorts.

“That so?” he chuckles.

“I’m sorry”, she says next, feeling like today’s been apology day. “For involving you in a fight with my boyfriend that time at the restaurant”.

“Me too. Ran and I kinda did the same”.

There are mirroring grins on their faces, the begging of a new friendship.


	13. This Love

“Damn!” Adam whistles, peering behind the curtains backstage, “Christina IS amazing! How the hell is she not a famous singer?”

“Beats me”, Blake answers, leaning a bit on his shoulder to better see through the gap.

“Her voice’s one in a million”, Shakira adds from his left side, also trying to catch a look.

“More like the voice of a generation, baby”, Usher joins the conversation and narrow viewing spot, his intense stare set on her.

The blonde coos at her boyfriend and Adam makes a disgusted face, eliciting a chuckle from Blake.

On the stage a big crowd is watching enraptured as Christina, Alicia, Carrie, Gwen, and Cee lo sing “Lady Marmalade”. It is finally Saturday night, the date for the second stage to Pharrell’s singing plan –as Carson calls it- to unfold. Up until tonight, they’ve only been performing short songs as a choir in order to get people used to the idea. Said second stage currently developing involves having the acts perform in small groups, each member getting a chance to highlight their voices. In this manner, the desired effect would be the slow yet steady creation of fan bases.

“On that note, Alicia’s got pipes too”, Blake remarks.

“Don’t forget Carrie”, he contributes, her raw power the most impressive quality about her. She surely can roar.

“And Gwen”, Shakira says, “She’s got something unique”.

“I pity Cee lo, he’s so relaxed and the girls are eating him alive”, Usher ponders amused.

“Nah, he covers for it in flamboyance”, Adam snorts. “What is he even wearing?”

The strongman is sporting a rainbow coloured sequined pantsuit with giant red peacock feathers attached to the back, making him appear positively extravagant, bordering on kitschy. In comparison his group partners look tame, even if their clothes are plenty eye catching themselves. They have more restraint is the point.

“Hey, peeping Toms, come over here! We don’t want the audience to realize ya’re there”, Miranda suddenly beckons from their backs. “’Sides, it won’t be long ‘till our turn”.

Reluctantly, he closes the gap in the fabric and the four of them walk to the other tamer. She’s right, though. The first team already sang The Beatles’ “With a Little Help from My Friends”, the second is singing now and soon they’ll have to step out.

“Everyone remember their parts?” Miranda inquires calmly.

Among the general nodding Shakira tenses.

“I think”, she words nervously worrying her lower lip into her mouth. Typical of her to have her nerves chew at her before performing.

Seeing her discomfort Usher rubs her shoulders reassuringly, whispering sweet nothings in her ears. Adam smiles at the display of affection. Much as he gives them crap for dating, he’s truly glad they are good together.

His gaze diverts to Miranda and Blake, discussing daily obligations, something or other about goose feathers. They look incredibly domestic, even with the underlying tension he notices because he knows better. He sighs. What’s awful about being the sole single person among happy –and relatively happy- couples is the foolish feeling of longing for a partner. As if it’s forgotten all reason his brain murmurs how nice it’d be to have someone like everybody else does. This is royally stupid, considering he’s sworn off love for at least a century.

Then, there’s roaring applause signaling the end of the song. It startles the five of them.

A second later Carrie, Cee lo, Alicia, Christina and Gwen make their way through the curtains. The groups exchange congratulations and encouragements quickly as Carson hollers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, for our final song let’s welcome back Miranda, Shakira, Usher, Blake and Adam with One Republic’s “This Love”!”

The women plus Cee lo head deeper backstage to join the rest of the crew, although they’ll all return once the performance is done for the last salute. Adam places his left hand before him in the air, raising an inviting eyebrow at his teammates. Both Shakira and Miranda roll their eyes, while Usher shakes his head and Blake chuckles again; everyone amused by his antics. Nevertheless, their hands end up on top of his, swinging briefly with an improvised victory chant they have to hurry because the audience is getting impatient. Show time it is.

“Well, we’re going first”, says Usher, giving his girlfriend’s shoulder a last squeeze. He needn’t have bothered, she’s looking game now. As usual, he proudly asserts in his head. Next the couple steps into the limelight.

Usher begins the song, his smooth crooning filling the tent. Adam silently counts to three before he hears the infatuated cries of few women from the public. Beside him, Blake and Miranda also smirk.

Shakira tackles the other half of the verse soon enough, her unique voice lively and enticing –so very familiar and dear to him, so many memories it carries-. Especially one comes to mind, he remembers her telling him about when she was eight and a choir teacher told her she sounded like a goat. Screw him. True, she never made a career out of music but tonight she resembles a star standing there in her blue sparkly dress and green heels. A considerably soft pats his arm. It’s Miranda, informing him to prepare to go next. He nods and patiently waits for their friends –fucking finally- to finish the first chorus. The minutes fly by in a flash, suddenly he has to come out and play. He allows himself a moment to close his eyes and inhale deeply. To shut down all his insecurities and access his confidence like a surge of unexplained magic. Once he breathes out, he’s ready to kick butt.

He enters the ring along Miranda, stopping beside Shakira and Usher. Half a second later he’s singing his part, trying to imbue it with all the sensuality, weariness and desperation it requires. The thrill is different from performing his juggling and contortionism routines; there’s a sliver of fear in the back of his mind that he won’t be liked, something never present in his acts otherwise. Thus it’s pretty rewarding when he listens a couple of wolf whistles directed at him. Adam can’t help but wink and blow a kiss back, knowing full-well he’s making it hard for his teammates not to crack up in laughter. Miranda fixes him with a stare since now it’s her time to shine. So the blonde tamer sings her lines, clear and expressive, her inflection a bit angrier then the rest of them. As they sing the chorus together, their harmonies are perfect; they do match after all. Only thing they had lacked was understanding.

Then the middle eight is upon the group and Blake makes his entrance. The man appears transfixed, gone is his natural goofiness, leaving composure behind and a strange determination that his uncannily blue eyes practically scream. Blake opens his mouth and the audience is taken in an instant. Adam is right with them, a shiver running down his back. There’s something raw, eagerness in his delivery that is a tad odd albeit enthralling for what’s supposed to be the most sexual part of the song. In short, there’s reality here. It feels as if he and everyone else are intruding on a personal moment.

However, soon as Blake’s done with the bridge, the spell is broken, and Adam shakes his head slightly, rushing to catch up to his friends for the last stretch. He’d tell himself that he has too vivid of an imagination, but a little exaggeration in life is what keeps things interesting.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

It’s an hour in the after-party and Adam’s feeling great. His head is buzzing pleasantly with the first effects of alcohol. Sat on the front row of the bleachers, a shot of tequila in hand, music playing loud, and his new “family” surrounding him, he can declare himself officially content. He’s currently taking a respite from dancing, the ring turned dancefloor cluttered with most of the crew of the circus. A disco ball’s been hung from the rafters and it reflects the lights like a kaleidoscope, projecting funny patterns on those below it. Some ten feet next to Adam, Carson and five others have gathered plastic tables where they’ve deposited drinks and snacks, taking on bar duties. Behind the tables there are two plastic benches in case “the barmen” get tired; tuppers containing food; and mini freezers full of ice, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages, sliced and diced fruit, and even ice cream. The ringmaster’s come prepared to satisfy any demand as far as drinking and eating are concerned. Typical Carson. Always one step ahead if it’s about pleasing people.

Ten minutes or so after, Luke, Blake and Michael plop down beside him, mirth written on their faces too. Plus plastic cups in hands.

“What’re you guys drinking?” he asks.

“Wine”, says Michael.

“Michael’s always been the classy one”, Luke teases. “I favor vodka myself”.

“This one doesn’t count, it’s cheap as all hell”, the Canadian protests half smiling.

“S’ppose not”, Luke snorts.

“And you, cowboy?” What’d you get?”

“Guess”.

“Whiskey”.

“Wonder when I’ll convince ya I ain’t a walking stereotype”, Blake huffs in mock frustration.

“Not happening. Vodka”.

“Nope”.

“Beer?”

“No-o”.

“I give”.

“How quick”.

“Meh, I’m not that interested”.

“I knew it, ya don’t care ‘bout me anymore!”, Blake complains melodramatically. Adam and the other two chortle. Honestly, the tamer’s such a riot.

“Anyway, what’re ya drinking, rockstar?”

“Guess”.

“Same thing as I”, Blake grins wickedly.

“Motherfucker”, he whistles.

“Who’s predictable now, huh?”.

“Shut up, Big Foot”.

“Ehem, for us guys in the dark, what’re you having?” Michael inquires.

“Only the best tequila you could get in L.A.”, he states proudly.

“Yeah? Can I try?” Luke says.

“Sure”. He passes hi his cup and the man takes a sip before handing it back.

“Ya’re right. This stuff’s good. Shoulda asked for it instead of vodka”.

Luke’s drawl is pretty different from Blake’s; thicker, faster paced, and –at least to him- less charming.

“Except you’d have to drop my name at the bar like this doofus did”, he points to Blake with his thumb, “Or they’ll give you regular tequila. I have an agreement with Carson”.

“Really? Would’ve been nice if someone had told me we could do that”, Michael laments eyeing his cup. Luke pretends to grab an invisible tea cup, his pinky finger extended, and Michael elbows him on the side playfully.

“Well, in fact, you can’t”, his hand brushes the nape of his neck.

“How’s that? Why’d ya get special treatment?” Luke questions.

“You know Carson also works as a radio host, right?”

“So?”

“A week and a half ago he was busy and asked me to substitute for him during a program. In exchange he bought me two bottles of my favorite tequila”.

“Lucky bastard”, Michael chuckles. “And you only told Blake about it”.

“Cause I’m his bestie”, Blake proclaims using his vantage point sitting on Adam’s left to place an obnoxious kiss on the top of his head.

“Ugh, gross”, he scrunches up his nose and pushes Blake off him, earning a laugh from the Okie.

“I did it ‘cause you tend to taste all my drinks, so I saved myself the hassle of your endless prodding”, he clarifies.

“Oh, c’mon. I’m not that bad”, the tamer pouts. Perhaps the biggest mystery in the universe is the way Blake manages to look adorable pouting despite being freakishly tall. 

“I beg to differ, cowboy Dan. Your one track mind can be scary”.

“Ya’re just jealous of my ability to focus”.

“Of course, I totally am”, he rolls his eyes.

“In any case, why did Carson seek ya out for help? Of us four I’m definitely the most articulate”, Luke jokes, never content to be excluded from a conversation. Which tends to happen a lot whenever Adam and Blake are together, they rapidly find themselves wrapped up in their own bubble. Talking to them as a combo requires patience and/or willingness to “enjoy the show”. They can banter for hours after all.

“Don’t know, dude”, he shrugs.

“He must think you’re trustworthy”, Michael muses.

“It’s not like I had to do much. Carson prerecorded some things and I just had to play songs. Hardly any work”, he dismisses.

“Sounds as if anyone would’ve done”, Luke weighs in.

“Yeah, guess he was in a bind and I was the only person available”.

“I agree with Michael. He trusted ya. No need to be humble”, Blake pats him strongly on the back startling him a bit.

“I’m not trying to. It’s fine if he does, more free expensive tequila for me”.

“Ya could share in the spoils, ya know?” Luke says between gulps from his cup.

“Dude, I literally told you to drop my name at the bar a few minutes ago. Follow Blake’s example, I don’t mind”, he replies with a snicker.

“I’ll take ya up on that offer. Gotta finish this first, though”.

Silence falls on them for a moment. They stay sitting companionably, drinking, watching everybody unwinding.

PING, a phone beeps out of nowhere. The telltale sound of a text message. As it happens, the offending device belongs to Michael, who’s typing and answer lighting fast.

“My wife”, the Canadian explains, “She’s back in Argentina visiting her family”.

“Have ya two seen Michael’s wife?” Luke questions, he and Blake shake their heads. “She’s a looker, I tell ya. Gorgeous blue eyed blonde. Makes a pretty picture with our friend here”.

Michael’s about to speak again yet another beep of his phone distracts him.

“Come to think of it”, Luke continues, “There are a lot of beautiful blonde women in this circus”.

“You’re right”, Adam says slightly bemused. It’s a glaringly obvious fact, nonetheless he’s never pondered over it.

“I mean, it’s not like I’m engaged to one of those beauties”, Blake comments smugly.

He and Luke –Michael’s typing away- roll their eyes. Sometimes it seems outrageous that the couple of tamers are having any relationship trouble a tall.

“And I’m best friends with Shakira. We were simply pointing out how many pretty blonde coworkers we have, not starting a competition to see who’s closest to them”, he provides a bit sarcastically.

“Now that ya mention closeness, Adam, for a while I thought ya and Christina had a thing going”.

“Why?!” he exclaims bewildered.

Blake guffaws, the idea apparently hilarious to him.

“Don’t pay attention to him. Luke likes pairing people up randomly”, Michael answers absentmindedly as he converses with his wife.

“Not true”, Luke whines.

“You thought Alicia and I were an item”, Michael deadpans.

“I admit I was wrong that once, but y’all looked cozy talking. It was misleading”, Luke attempts to excuse himself.

“You were wrong about me too”, he cheerfully supplies.

“Well, my radar’s been off lately”.

“The word ya’re looking for is busted”, Blake drives the final nail into the coffin, “Or non-existent”.

It’s time for Adam to laugh, the tamer quickly tagging along.

“Very funny, jerks”, Luke utters affronted.

“What, the clown can’t take a joke?” he mocks.

Luke grunts something under his breath that sounds awfully similar to lil’ shit.

“Chill out, man. Although ya gotta admit the idea of Christina and Adam dating is ridiculous”, Blake says good-naturedly, putting down his empty cup on the bleachers.

“Can you imagine that?” he adds. “We wouldn’t make it to a day without murdering each other”. This provokes a chuckle from him and Blake again.

“I also saw her being cornered by James outside the women’s bathroom twenty minutes ago”, Michael reenters/re-focuses on the conversation, his phone tucked away safely in the pocket of his black pants.

“See, James likes Christina. I couldn’t possibly fuck that up for him”, he keeps on poking fun at Luke.

“Fine, fine, I get it. I suck at matchmaking”, Luke surrenders lifting his hands with an easy grin.

“Yeah you..hey!” he tries to swat Blake’s hand off of the cup he’s holding, however the guy snatches it anyway. “You dirty thief! Give it back”.

Blake merely sticks his tongue at him and takes a chug of the drink; which has Adam heaving an exasperated yet fond sigh, a reaction he has been getting more and more used to since he became friends with the Okie.

“And here’s a perfect example of Mr. Caveman doing whatever the fuck he pleases”, he remarks wittily; them giving each other crap might as well be a sport.

“Being less selfish’d do ya good, rockstar”, Blake retorts sipping merrily.

“Being less selfish’d do ya good, rockstar”, he exaggeratedly imitates Blake’s accent.

Now it’s Michael and Blake who cackle.

Adam smiles at them briefly before turning to Blake.

“You’re gonna go and fetch me another cup, all right Sasquatch?”

“Sure thing, baby”, Blake pinches his cheek and he pries the hand away.

“Literally my dumbest friend”, he declares, face palming due to Blake’s stupidity and to cover the shit-eating grin threatening to overtake his face. When the Santa laugh is released he knows he didn’t quite manage to.

He’s about to attempt to shut the tamer up and then Luke sighs deeply. The most astounding part is that it sounds like a lovesick sigh. All here of them glance at Luke, interest picked. He’s very intently gazing at someone in the crowd of dancers, so they follow his line of view. It’s Carrie he’s watching. By Adam’s own admission she looks beautiful tonight. Long wavy blonde hair cascading down her back, flicking as she moves to the music accompanied by Miranda and Shakira –where the hell is Usher?-; a sparkly backless turquoise mini dress; sliver pumps that accentuate the length of her gorgeous legs.

“She’s a vision, ain’t she?” Luke recognizes their attention.

“You like her”, Michael states just this shade of befuddled.

“Yes”.

“I’m disappointed, man. How come ya never told me, yar greatest friend in the universe, ya fancied Carrie?” Blake mock scolds Luke, “Thanks to Miranda I see the woman almost every day, could’ve helped ya”.

“Hold yar shit, I only realized recently. I was gonna ask ya to be my wingman”.

“That’s the Luke I know! What, ya’re gonna try yar luck tonight? Or do ya want me to set a date for ya?” Blake says excitedly.

“I’ve been talking to her. We’re doing well, I think. But I wanna take it to the next level”.

“No better moment than the present”, Blake encourages him, “Look, the girls are resting now. Ya should go to her. Win her over with yar douchebag charm”.

“Ya’re full of crap, Shelton”, Luke his head amused.

Adam, who’s been nervously biting his lip all throughout this exchange, finally decides to speak.

“I hate to be a killjoy but, um, Luke you should probably give up”.

He doesn’t except the three men to laugh in his face.

“You’re on point today, pal”, Michael recovers from the fit first. “Beware Luke; Adam might be aiming for our jobs”.

“Enough to have ya as competition”, Luke says smiling widely, standing up and rearranging his shirt.

“And me? I’m a lot funnier than rockstar here”, Blake points to himself.

“You lack finesse”, Michael shoots the tamer down.

“Guys, I’m serious”, Adam comes out of his momentary daze, “You really should forget about her”.

Luke’s lips straighten, his eyebrows knitting in confusion.

“Why? She told me there she wasn’t dating anyone, so she’s fair game. And we’ve chemistry”.

“What if she’s not interested? As in she likes girls not interested?” Adam hopes he’s being clear enough.

“That can’t be”, Blake argues, “I remember last Monday Miranda told me she’d had a boyfriend ‘till not long ago”.

“Was it a rumor? You know better than anyone James and Gwen are prone to exaggeration”, Michael questions.

“It came from her mouth”, he sentences.

“But she had a boyfriend”, Luke insists, clutching at the piece of information that’s convenient for his feelings.

“You meant to say beard”.

“Ya don’t know that”.

“No b…” he admits and Luke seizes the opportunity swiftly.

“Ya can’t prove I’m wrong. Maybe she’s confused or experimenting. I can help her figure things out”.

Wow. Adam marvels at how immediately someone can be soured on a person. The idiot wants to mess with others’ sexualities? Fine. Let’s see what really happens.

“Oh my God, you’re right! I’m such a dumbass! You obviously know her better than she knows herself”, he sneers at Luke.

“Ya’re coming off like a dick, Levine”, Luke replies tersely. “Never mind, I don’t need yar blessing”.

Then the man turns and strides to where Shakira, Miranda and Carrie are chatting.

“I was thinking the same!” Adam shouts after him.

“What the hell’s gotten into you, Adam?” Michael chastises him.

Before he can start to enumerate all the issues he has with Luke’s attitude, Blake snakes an arm around his shoulders, tucking him onto his side.

“Leave him”, Blake answers for him. “I’m not happy about Blake’s actions myself”.

“You don’t need to defend me”. Adam hates being coddled.

“Who says I was defending ya?” Blake raises an eyebrow at him, nonchalant.

“Wait, wait, I’m missing something here. Blake, five minutes ago you were cheering Luke on, and now you’re angry with him too?” Michael tries to understand.

Blake rubs his chin for a second, surely organizing his thoughts. Then clears his throat. 

“I’m not the best man to say this. Simply put, assuming things of people when they suit us ain’t very kind to them, especially if we want a relationship”.

Michael also takes his time to go through the tamer’s words.

“Did I make sense?” Blake wonders.

“Yes. Yes, I believe I got it”.

Meanwhile Adam is still pressed to Blake’s side. He finds it a tad frustrating that, even if he’s being babied, the contact and warmth really soothes him. He’ll protest later, he decides snuggling just an inch more into his friend.

A few feet to their right Luke’s caught up with the girls and is talking to them amicably.

Out of the blue, a curvy brunette woman approaches the group. As she’s greeting everyone she goes and places a playful kiss on Carrie’s lips and the vaulter laughs giddily in response.

“Was I right or was I right”, Adam puffs his chest. He can TASTE Luke’s disillusion from where he’s sitting up.

“I’ll be damned”, Michael comments.

“Humility’s never been one of yar virtues”, Blake teases him.

“I don’t care, let me celebrate this victory, cowboy”.

“Should I add vindictive to yar flaws?”

“I’m baffled it isn’t already on the list”, he replies cheekily.

“I’m amazed so much evil fits in such a small body”.

“For fuck’s sake, when will it penetrate your thick skull, I’m not little!”

“Aww, yes ya are”, Blake coos, “Yes ya are”.

“Quit it”.

“Yar pout’s cute”.

“That’s it dude, you’re grossing me out”, he says extricating himself from Blake’s grasp, his nose crinkled. Next he’s on his feet and shaking his body as if shaking the feel of Blake on him. The tamer appears supremely entertained by said reactions. Michael, for his part, is sniggering.

“Guess I owe ya an apology”, Luke suddenly sneaks up on Adam. Although it startles him, he manages to turn slowly.

“Not to me. To Carrie maybe”, he states, tense.

“I already did”, Luke amazingly says, more than a little sheepish.

“You did?”

His disbelief is so naked Luke cringes.

“Give me a lil’ credit. I’m not that big of an asshole that I won’t say sorry if I hurt someone”.

“You’re practically a saint”, Blake takes a jive at Luke, a grin on his mouth.

“Actually…” Luke looks even more sheepish than before, “It’s not only ‘bout what I said earlier. When that girl –Kelly, she’s called- kissed Carrie, I kinda got mad at her. I said she was liar, telling me she wasn’t seein’ anybody and shit”.

“But?” Adam urges him.

“I was wrong. Carrie reminded me I had asked if she had a boyfriend, not a girlfriend. And that in any case it wasn’t my bizz and she don’t owe me nothing. Said it was sad ‘cause she considered me a friend and I didn’t give a shit ‘bout her feelings”.

“Damn, she really gave you an earful”, Michael points. Then again, Carrie’s always been pretty upfront.

“She set me straight alright, and frankly, I needed it. I was behaving like a douche”, Luke acknowledges his guilt. “That’s why I want to apologize to ya as well, Adam. I might be a clown but I ain’t that stupid, and I feel ya took what I said rather personal”.

Blake spares him a worried glance and he shoots him a reassuring smile.

“Maybe I overreacted; you know me, I live for the drama”, he shrugs prompting his friends to snort, “Truth is, I’ve history hearing those kinda words directed at me. The perks of being bisexual”.

Both Michael and Luke’s eyes open wide, their mouth gaping. Clearly his confession wasn’t within expectations.

“I was thinking ya had a girlfriend who came out. Fuck it I was off the mark!” Luke curses astonished.

“So you like women and men?” Michael queries in equal condition of bewilderment.

“Yeah, that’s more or less it. You don’t have to sound so shocked, though”, he snickers pushing his hands in his pockets, swaying back and forth a bit. Spending so much time put makes him antsy.

“Give them a pass, buddy. They’re too drunk for this conversation”, Blake reasons laughing.

“No, we aren’t”, the other two say in unison.

“You’re only calm because Adam told you beforehand”, Michael accuses the tamer, his tone is light, humorous.

“My best friend status makes me privy to all of Adam’s secrets”, Blake sort of singsongs quite annoyingly. Adam rolls his eyes, allowing a warm grin to settle on his lips. 

“Please, it’s plain to me he didn’t say anything ‘cause he’s got a huge crush on me and was waiting for the perfect moment to confess”, Luke jokes. 

“Dude, you caught me. I’m head over heels for you, you hunk. Marry me!” he plays along.

They all laugh heartily.

“So…are you guys okay?” he asks, the barest hint of nervousness in his voice.

“With ya not being straight?” Luke answers.

He nods.

“Of course”, both clowns affirm.

“Besides, ya liking cock and pussy –I know Michael I’m the embodiment of class- means double the chances of teasing ya”, Luke daydreams, ever the one to thrive on the embarrassment of others.

“Don’t worry, I’m not planning on forfeiting bachelorhood just yet”, he stops the man on his tracks.

“Ya’re no fun”.

“Meh, they all fall in the end”, Michael expresses reaching for his phone. Luke high fives his partner.

“Love’s the greatest thing in the world”, Blake joins the pro-lover party as he smirks at him.

“Don’t you have a drink to fetch, you menace?” he counters placing his hands on his hips.

“I didn’t promise I’d do it”, Blake says and takes one more blatant gulp of Adam’s former mug.

“Funny, I remember you did. Never pegged you for a liar, Shelton”, he arches an eyebrow. An impish gleam crosses his features. “Or did you forget, grandpa?”

“Three years aren’t a big difference”.

“It’s how you act, like you are from another era”.

“Know what?” Blake rises to his feet, eyes shining brightly with amusement, “Imma go get ya that goddamned tequila. Long as I don’t have to hear yar crap”.

“Thanks, dad”, he beams cheekily. The tamer guffaws and sets on his way. 

Next to Adam Luke is complaining how he and Blake always manage to ignore everyone else while they talk; and Michael is actively not attention, typing on his phone, a loving smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it seems like this fic will regularly update monthy. Y'all may get two or three chapters per month, if my muse and college allow it, but the sure thing is once a month.  
> Turns out the characters keep popping, this time Kelly makes a brief cameo thanks to being part of one of my crack ships :P. She'll turn into a semi regular, so you'll get to know more about her at a later time. Not next chapter, though. Jesus, what the hell am I doing, I haven't even introduced Miley yet! But we're getting there, folks, believe me. Why did I curse myself with so many characters ;-;  
> Also I really appreciate your comments, they keep me going<3  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter :)


	14. A day in the life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an interlude between the first and second "arcs" of the story.  
> Enjoy :)!

He blinks, the yellow light hitting his face almost blindingly. Adam would have to have a word with Stuart about “proper illumination” later. A.KA. give him a talking to. He doubts it will have much of an effect because the guy is a raging homophobe, a textbook example of a bigot. Pity he’s like the best or something and he has strong connections with influential people in L.A., so Carson and Pharrell can’t very well fire him. Anyways, he’ll enjoy yelling at the douche.

Right now he can’t lose focus on the task. Most of the time A.D.H.D sucks, but a life of dealing with it has turned him good at multitasking. It sure comes in handy when you and your friend are throwing knives back and forth while your other friend is between you two, balancing on a ball and constantly changing positions, contorting different parts of her body each change. All in front of an awestruck audience. The tent is packed full tonight, some folks are standing on the back, the sides, any spot really. Ever since two weeks ago “The Voice Circus”-for short-‘s popularity has peaked. Tickets have been re-sold left and right, owing in no small part to the fact that every show hosts new singing performances.

Usher raises an eyebrow at him, the signal to advance to the next stage. He nods and swings the knives back at the man, narrowly avoiding touching –hurting- Shakira as she untwists and stands straight again, feet planted firmly on the ground.

The crowd breaks in cheers.

All three of them take tiny bows in response to the applause. They look at each other, mirroring dangerous smiles. This’ll be fun. Usher whistles and immediately a staff member brings forth a big metallic contraption, a stationary wheel, sporting two leather handles dangling from the top and two leather straps below. The prop guy places the object between Usher and Adam and scurries away. Shakira gallantly gestures to the thing, presenting it to the public. Then she gracefully steps on the wheel, secures her feet and grabs the handles. She’s left spread eagled, her exposed limbs and stomach showing off taut muscles covered in blue glitter. 

Usher raises his other eyebrow; let’s get it started, he wordlessly says. They make four or five passes just like this, to create a dynamic meant to instill a false sense of security in the viewers, despite the initial gasps. Suddenly there’s a pause, the knives ending up on Usher’s fingers. Adam fishes a blindfold from his pants and ties it over his eyes. The crowd appears surprised but they fall dead-silent when he goes to stand on his hands, turning to “face” his partners. With one of his senses out, the others seem to heighten as usual. Maybe it’s kinda ironic how little nerves he has disappear doing these types of stunts. Or maybe it isn’t. One sense less is one thousand things less to focus on –perhaps even more given sight is so dominant-. There’s soft dirt below his palms, a gust of warm air caressing his bare arms and feet; he smells sweat, traces of alcohol, someone who dropped a whole bottle of perfume on themselves, a whiff of sweet popcorn; almost inaudible murmurs reach his ears, tiny hysterical laughs, quiet anticipation, indifference that should be silent yet is thought too loudly. Among all the stimuli he has to force himself to concentrate on his friends, on their familiar trained even breathing. Sometimes he imagines he can listen to their heartbeats. 

The soft clicking of Usher’s tongue is the next signal, followed by the man taking a step forward and swinging the first knife. He doesn’t know how he does it, he never does, but he calculates the trajectory of the blade, bends his calves slightly backwards to meet it. Muscle memory plays a huge part in this process. Attention too. And yet, some voice inside him whispers that there’s more to the mystery. It says simply knowing certain things isn’t normal, it’s a gift. Another side of him, the one that’s trained and bled to be where he is, can’t help but laugh scathingly at this naiveté. 

The audience contains their breaths as the knife passes by Shakira –he’d guess through the wheel over her left shoulder-. He listens to the object oscillate almost imperceptibly in the air, that velvety whooshing sound. It’s close. Closer. Here. With a flick of his right foot he catches the knife. Before the crowd can kick-start a new bout of applause –impatient fuckers they are, can’t wait to the end of a trick-, he throws it back to Usher. Once again there’s stunned silence as the knife goes through the wheel. A few seconds later he hears furious clapping, the telltale sign of Usher holding the knife triumphantly.

This time the second blade comes seemingly without warning, and faster. It’s all for show, naturally. Usher knows full-well he isn’t startling Adam and Shakira, knows how good both of their focuses are.

After the second, goes a third, fourth, fifth, sixth in rapid succession. Now it’s proper juggling that they do. They start out slow, progressively ramping up the speed. 

At one point he feels a knife deviate to the left, but his leg swiftly moves like a whip to grab it. Thus he averts disrupting the flow of catch and release. It is common knowledge that a delay of even a couple milliseconds can prove fatal. He laughs, joy and exhilaration filling his body. The same can’t be said about Usher, whose tenseness he reads through the following two knives before it ebbs out. After all, since he and Shakira are handicapped it rests on Usher’s shoulders to keep them safe. You’re the provider of the family, Adam had joked once during training. Usher had grinned in spite of himself, the sentiment being that having two lives depending on you is a heavy burden. Luckily for the man the “grand finale” is approaching.

Adam takes a deep breath, mentally reviewing what he has to do next. One more pass. Two. Three. When he gets a knife he doesn’t return it. Instead, he holds it firmly as he catches the other five. The end result is three blades on each foot. Great. Then he retracts his legs and kicks upwards, freeing the sharp edged objects into the air. Now’s the fun part. As soon as he finishes kicking he brings his feet down to connect with the earth. Gravity does its thing and the knives begin to fall. Amidst the pregnant silence his mind invokes the idea of drumrolls. They had those; through they nearly ever see use, only in Luke and Michael’s acts. Contrary to what you’d imagine, unless meant for irony or other comedic purpose, they have a way of sucking the tension out of a stunt. He thinks this while he effectively grabs the six blades. And the audience goes crazy. C. R. A. Z. Y. So much so that his ears start ringing. A light tug at his shirt makes him untie the blindfold, maneuvering carefully not to cut his scalp with the knives. It is Shakira beside him. She’s smiling like a loon, delighted by the public’s appreciation. Can’t fault her, he’s doing the same. Usher positions himself on the other side of his girlfriend, arm on her shoulders. He follows suit and Shakira snakes an arm around their waists. They bow again. It’s been yet another incredible night.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

“Good job today, Big Foot”, Adam says startling Blake from his thoughts. The tamer, who’d been petting one of the panthers on his charge absently, apparently pulls the beast’s hair in his surprise and it growls at him.

“Easy, easy”, Blake raises his hands placating, his voice low and soft, “There, that’s a good girl”. The animal calms down enough, but she takes a bit of a distance from her caretaker. Blake sighs and turns to him.

“Gee, rockstar, give a guy a warning, won’t ya? I almost got mauled thanks to ya”.

“Aww”, he pouts, “but sneaking’s half the fun”.

“Ya and Barbara have a lot in common”.

“Who?”

Blake gestures to the feline in the cage behind him.

“What the …?” he splutters. “Moving past the tacky name, did you just compare me to a panther?”

“Yup. Ya both are pretty little shits that like driving me crazy”.

As in response to Blake’s statement Barbara grumbles.

“You tell him. We are NOT little”, he argues.

“Suddenly y’all are sisters in arms”, Blake jives.

He rolls his eyes.

“Wow, man. You’re a real innovator. I’ve never heard that before”.

“I’m not the first to point yar kinship with panthers?” Blake asks feigning innocence.

“You’re so dumb”, he shakes his head, “So dumb”.

Blake beams at him as if he received a compliment, the idiot. Adam has to stop himself from cracking a smile. Damnit the bastard is charming.

“But ya know, rockstar, ya’re always looking for something to complain about. Like ya got hung up on the size thing and totally ignored I called ya pretty”, Blake further teases him, a mischievous grin on his lips.

“Did you now? Hear it so often one more time doesn’t make a difference”, he counters cheekily.

“Cocky bastard”.

“You like that about me”.

“Yes, I do”.

Blake’s eyes are such an intense shade of blue in that moment that Adam has to avert his gaze, ducking his head a bit. A few minutes of quiet go by. Soon enough he’s feeling restless as usual, searching for something to do. He notices a slight soreness in his muscles, sign of a god day’s work. So he begins stretching lazily his arms, shoulders, his neck, his back; all the while relishing the pleasant burn it brings to his body. Out of nowhere a chuckle falls on his ears.

“What’s so funny?” he says.

“Nothing”, Blake huffs, appearing completely serious.

“Oh, really?” He gives the other man the stink eye for a split second ‘till he crashes down laughing.

“Ok, ok”, Blake wheezes. “I was thinking-I hit the nail on the head”.

“Explain”.

“Just now ya were stretching like a goddamn cat. I mean, ya’re making it easier and easier”.

“Know what? I’ll take it. At least I resemble some majestic feline where you get stuck looking like an inbred hick”, he smirks back.

“The fact that ya’re a heartless motherfucker only reinforces my comparison”.

“Whatever, Cowboy Dan”, he rolls his eyes again, amused. He considers whipping up a new snarky remark but remembers why he wanted to talk to Blake in the first place. Focus, Adam. “Anyways, I originally came here to check on you”.

“Did Miranda tell ya to?” Blake utters sheepishly, shoving his hands in his jeans’ pockets.

“Yes”.

“Oh”.

Blake’s remaining humor seems to evacuate the building, leaving him kinda pensive.

“I thought you two were doing well lately”, he expresses, his fingers wanting to reach Blake’s shoulder albeit ultimately deciding against it.

“We are”. Blake’s voice is oddly distant as the man faces Barbara once more. The creature rises from the resting position she had assumed and stares at her tamer with faint interest, her irises a ring of bright golden around her blown pupils. It is certainly dark here, only the lamp pole to illuminate the space where the animals’ cages are. He wonders if his own eyes have adopted a similar semblance. Purring interrupts his musings and he zeroes in on Blake petting the wildcat anew. The man runs his hand across the whole five feet that comprise Barbara, even tugging lightly on her tail. In turn she folds herself against the bars of her cage, trying to get as much contact with her caretaker as possible. It’s fascinating, honestly. Seeing Blake this content, calm and confident, so clearly in his element, is such a treat. No wonder he and Miranda are hailed as one of the best tamers alive. Shit. He got sidetracked again.

“Back to topic”, he coughs intending to remind his friend of his presence. Blake, the asshole, doesn’t acknowledge him, although he can tell the guy’s listening. He sighs. The fuckery will never end, will it?

“I’d believe everything is fine but Miranda did ask me to keep an eye on you. Sooo, can you tell me what’s going on?”

“I’m alright, ya don’t have to worry for me”, Blake says dismissively over his shoulders.

Adam pinches his nose.

“Cut the crap, Shelton. You aren’t fooling anyone. I’ve seen you moping all week, and frankly I’m tired. Do I have to beat your sorry ass so you’ll stop sulking like a child and fucking speak to me?!” he exclaims, his tone a mixture of concern plus exasperation.

That does it, Blake turning so fast it probably gave him whiplash.

“Last Tuesday was the anniversary of Richie’s death”, Blake responds, voice grave and rough, old grief carving deep lines on his face. Oh. Well, that sure clarifies the mystery. Still, this time he isn’t gonna allow the man to wallow in his misery any longer.

“Hey, I’m sorr… let me finish, ok dude? Good. Where was I? Ah, yeah, I’m, as you already know, sorry for your loss and I understand you miss him but instead of keeping the pain to yourself you could share it with us. Hell, if you at least talked to your fiancée we wouldn’t need to be having this conversation".

“I’ve my own ways to deal with my shit”, Blake barks uncooperative. “Just like ya”.

“Trying to play dirty, huh? Ain’t that cute, you dick”, he retorts, easily avoiding the bait, “A for effort, F for creativity”.

“Can’t you leave me alone this once?” the tamer requests sullenly.

“Excuse me? Pot meet kettle. You’re one of the nosiest people I know. In fact, remember when I mentioned I had A.D.H.D.? And even though I’d meant it as a passing comment, you got all worried and practically harassed me for hours ‘till I told you every little detail about my condition”, Adam rants gesticulating with both hands.

Blake winces and he continues.

“Since you’ve so obnoxiously made my business yours I feel entitled to do the same, Big Country”.

“But…”

“For fuck’s sake, do you think your brother would be happy that you keep using him as an excuse to feel sorry for yourself?”

Under his unrelenting gaze the tamer finally has to admit defeat. Blake shrugs, a half grin setting on his mouth.

“S’ppose ya’re right, Adam. I was being stupid”, Blake sighs dejectedly, which has Adam itching to replace the expression with one of the guy’s trademark joyful smiles. Instead, he inches closer to his friend and realizes the urge he had earlier, placing a comforting hand on one of Blake’s shoulders.

“It’s been a long time; I’d say it’s fine if you move on now”.

Blake nods slowly, and then speaks.

“A part of me is still afraid that if I do I’ll forget ‘bout him”.

“Don’t be an idiot, of course you won’t”, he affirms, heart warmed by the trust he’s being the recipient of.

The taller man doesn’t say anything else, but he looks far less convinced of his ability to remember than Adam is. Naturally you can’t expect to easily change how something’s been for years.

After a second or two of renewed quiet, Blake gently brushes Adam’s hand off of his shoulder and clasps it with his own, starting to drag him away from the cages. He follows compliantly, knowing his cowboy they’re headed to the bar. Above them only a handful of stars manage to be seen on L.A.’s smog saturated night sky; on the ground, a tiny spark unconsciously blooms and is as rapidly squashed in Adam’s chest as the duo walk towards promise of liquid bliss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1)The stunts described in this chapter are completely unresearched and imagination based, thus I don't know if they are viable in reality. Basically rule of cool applies here :p  
> 2)Next chapter we finally get Miley, yay :D! Also expect it to be longer than others.


	15. Vegas, please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive :D! You guys, I'm sorry it's been so long. I'd blame college and midterms, but truth is I've been having one of the strongest cases of writer's block ever. Luckily it's gone away for the most part. So, without further ado, here you have the chapter, and Miley finally. Enjoy and comment <3.

Dark. Cold. Stagnant blood. Unmoving fingers. Dried tear tracks. Black eye. Isolation. Split lip. Long expanses of ink. Bruises. Strong hands. White hot rage. Daydreams. Deceiving sweetness. Wordless plea. I love you. Suffocation. Open eyes.

Adam wakes up brusquely with a gasp, his heart beating humming bird fast in his chest. Darkness envelops him once more, and he has to bite his lips to avoid letting out a panicked whine. He doesn’t know where he is, feels disoriented, instinct telling him any noise he produces might be dangerous. Tears begin welling in his eyes but he blinks them away, swallows hard and tries to force his mind to remember his location. 

Before he can reach an appropriate conclusion he hears a soft snore on his left. It can’t be… Pushing past the new bout of fear evidenced by the goosebumps on his arms, he slowly turns his head. At first all he sees is a dark lump, vision not yet used to the lack of light. If he pays attention, however, he can pick up even breathing. And not just from one person, he notes astonished. There must be at least five more human beings wherever the fuck this is, a completely different set of snores sealing the deal. Suddenly his body seems to regain its sense of touch. Half of him is lying on a carpeted floor while his legs are resting on something firm and warm, a weight pressed on the left one. No, it’s someone, he realizes after squinting for several minutes, finally able to make out Blake’s features from the aforementioned lump beside him. A look further down reveals that his legs are in fact on Blake’s lap, his left limb being used as a makeshift teddy bear for Miranda as she lays her head over her fiancé’s belly. Adam is perplexed for a second. Which turn of events led to this awkward result? Then the memories of the previous day, the previous night, return. They are all travelling to Las Vegas, the first venue of their first tour across the US as a circus. Last night a group among the acts-him included- got together in the women’s trailer to drink and everyone got smashed. End of the flashback. He sighs, relieved. After that horrible nightmare it’s comforting to have his “family” around him; even if said “family” is the cause of the hangover he has right now. Though thankfully it is not the worst he’s experienced, just his temples throbbing and a slight feeling of nausea. Could’ve been worse. He can bet one of his friends here wasn’t so lucky. There’s always that person who ends up blind drunk, making a home by the toilet. 

Adam attempts to go back to sleep and finds himself wide awake. It wouldn’t be a problem, except he can’t get up or move at all without the risk of disturbing the couple of tamer’s slumber, and he doesn’t even have his phone to entertain himself until morning arrives-he guesses by the little light present it’ll be a while before the sun rises- because he left it on the table under the window. So he’s stuck with nothing to do but wait. Awesome. He fucking loves waiting, especially when the sole action available to him is lie still contemplating existence. In other words, this is another one of those moments in which he low key feels like crawling out of his skin.

As a way of distraction from his discomfort he props himself up on his elbows to see if anybody else is awake. First he discovers Usher and Shakira spooning on his right. He swallows down a chuckle. Oh, what great teasing material he has in front of him. Normally you could consider lovers snuggling together something adorable-depends on how much tolerance you have for corniness-, however, whether they fell asleep like this or they shifted positions during their sleep, the hilarious reality of the matter is that Usher’s face is up against his girlfriend’s ass, his arms draped around her waist. Fortunately for Shakira and her dignity, it’s the back of her head that is in contact with her boyfriend’s crotch. All in all, Adam has to make a herculean effort not to start cackling. Only thing he deplores is the untimely location of his phone, thus depriving him of incriminatory photos. Whatever, witnessing the lovebirds’ awakening will surely be worth it.

An overview of the rest of the room discloses one; Carrie is plastered next to Miranda, lightly grabbing Christina’s hand, who is snoring away next to the vaulter. Two; Christina’s feet are practically kicking at James’ head. Three; Mickey is back to back with James. Four; Luke-he clearly remembers the man partying alongside the lot of them- is nowhere to be seen. 

Suddenly the arm holding his leg moves away.

“Adam?” calls Miranda’s quiet drowsy voice. He gazes down. The blonde woman appears puzzled, and he believes he distinguishes faint blushing on her cheeks despite the dark.

“Don’t worry”, he says equally soft, “I also freaked out when I woke up”.

“But I was, um, hugging your leg”, she ducks her head, her embarrassment rising.

“And I’m basically sitting on Blake’s lap”, he points dragging his legs to the floor, his body no longer forming a diagonal line, “Was. Anyway, I think we’re even here”.

Miranda glances at him doubtfully and then nods. Her eyelids start dropping involuntarily, the clutches of Morpheus unwilling to release her still. She rubs her eyes with her palms but to no avail.

“Do you mind if I rest my head some more?” Miranda says sleepy and the slightest bit sheepish, like she feels a little guilty to leave Adam alone in his apparent insomnia. What’s with the kid treatment everybody keeps giving him?

“No, go ahead. I’m not actually gonna combust spontaneously ‘cause I’ve nothing to do right now”, he quips.

The sarcasm never reaches Miranda due to her returning to her previous sleeping spot and planking instantaneously.

He rolls his eyes. That’s what he gets for talking to half-awake people, he thinks resuming his wait. Dawn can’t come any faster. 

A while later, unending minutes spent metaphorically watching the paint dry as his mind tangles in useless thoughts-turns out his phone wasn’t where he thought- Adam’s bladder telegraphs him its fullness. So he stands up and makes his way to the bathroom, careful not to step on anyone. When he opens the door he is greeted by the sight of Luke asleep with his head directly on the toilet seat. Apart from some puke on his clothes and face the man looks fine, a thin trail of drool dripping down his chin. Adam cannot stifle a snort, although he avoids full blown laughter in favor of his slumbering friends. Sincerely it’s amazing how much teasing material he’s collecting; a camera or any picture-taking device would be the cherry on top.

 

Once he gets past the hilarity of the scene he’s reminded of his original goal in coming to the bathroom. Luke is sleeping peacefully, 100% unaware of Adam’s presence and his own whereabouts. Well, he’ll have to change that.

First he whispers.

“Luke”.

“Luke, wake up dude”.

Nothing happens, the man barely breathes in his drunken stupor.

He raises his voice gently. “Luuuke”.

Zero reaction again.

This time he crouches down by the man and speaks a touch louder.

“Luke”.

Silence, the sound of imaginary crickets springing in his mind. He shakes Luke’s shoulder gingerly, if this doesn’t do it… Luckily for both of them-Adam’s next action would’ve been to jostle Luke- the man’s eyes begin lifting heavily. It takes a second or two for Luke to finally focus on him.

“Hey bud, whacha doin here?” Luke’s accent is doubled by his grogginess, a confused look playing on his face.

“Hey there, do you know where you are dude?” he answers with an amused grin.

“Where…ow, ow!” Luke moans rubbing his temple. “My head! What the hell?”

“You drank a lot yesterday”, he summarizes, gently pulling the guy away from the toilet. Luke goes along dazedly, hand ranked in his hair and eyes scrunched up to ward off the headache and the bright light of the restroom.

“Can you stand?” Adam asks, his bladder protesting the delay.

“Why?” The reply and bemused drowsy gaze feel extremely familiar to him, and maybe it’s kinda sad how many drunk people he’s taken care of over the years.

“This is the bathroom. I need you to go so I can pee”, he states swallowing the wit that wants to spill from his mouth in favor of a direct approach, always better when dealing with the chemically impeded. 

“Oh”, Luke simply mutters losing interest in anything but his pain and appearing disconcerted. “Don’t mind me. Do whacha gotta”.

Adam facepalms so hard he startles himself a little. Of course Luke has to be one of those drunkards who give two shits about nudity. Of course.

Time to negotiate, he supposes.

“C’mon Luke, staying here’ll be a bitch for your back. Don’t you wanna sleep somewhere more comfortable?”

He extends his hands, hoping the other man will grab them. Luke stares at him blankly, seemingly not understanding his words.

“Breakfast”, Luke utters after a minute.

“Eh?”

“I want breakfast”.

“You’re covered in puke”, Adam rolls his eyes. How is food the first thought a guy that’s been retching all night long has upon awakening?

As if noting this for the first time, Luke peers down at his stained shirt. The hand in his hair leaves it to paw at the fabric accidentally smearing more vomit that wasn’t as dry as it looked. Luke’s nose crinkles in disgust.

“It don’t matter”, Luke says stubbornly,”Breakfast’ll make me feel better”.

Adam sighs, faintly exasperated. Okay, he’ll pull out his trump card.

“If you wait outside I promise we’ll eat after. Sounds good? I’ll wake up Blake too. He makes some mean waffles”.

Luke nods, appeased, and lets Adam slowly raise them to their feet. Then, supporting himself a bit on the walls, Luke tumbles out of the room, slumping next to the door which Adam wastes no time in closing.

Ah, he thinks, sweet relief at last.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

“Ya’re a little shit”, Blake says to Adam a few hours later as they wait for Pharrell outside the principal tent. “They” being him, Blake, Alicia, Gwen, Miranda and Luke. This particular principal tent belonging to “The Fantastic Golden Circus of Las Vegas”, the most popular company in the city and currently their hosts for the next two days. Through his connections Pharrell had gotten in contact with the owner of Golden, Miss Myra, and they’d arranged a joint spectacle for the following night. Tonight however, their jobs are, as it seldom happens, to be spectators. 

And right now the acts have been split in two groups, heralded by Carson and Pharrell respectively, and assigned to another two groups of acts from Golden; the idea being as previously stated to work together to put on a show. Carson’s team has met their partners and began preparing; however theirs has been held off since Pharrell had to ultimate some things with Myra.

“I don’t know why you say that”, he bats his eyelashes innocently.

“Sure ya do”, Blake rolls his eyes, unable to contain a grin, “First ya woke me up at ass o’clock in the morning to make breakfast for Luke…”

“Hey, I was desperate; it isn’t my fault the stars aligned so that I couldn’t use the toilet without having to bribe MrDrunkypants-fuckyourprivacy-Iwantbreakfastnow?”

“I already said I’m sorry, guys”, Luke tries to cut in, sheepish, but he and Blake ignore him.

“It’s fine. I don’t blame ya too much for that”, cue an eye-roll from him this time. “Though I do think ya falling asleep over the waffles I lovingly prepared for ya is disrespectful”, Blake states puffing out his chest with an air of offended dignity. 

“Is that why you ate my share, dude? How petty, Shelton”, he jives. Adam’s stomach would like to complain too, having missed on delicious waffles and only containing the apple he managed to snatch before he was more or less hauled off the women’s trailer because, as fate would have it, after falling asleep beside his plate-not on, the way Blake, the drama llama, put it- he ended up waking when they had arrived to their destination and thus he had had no time to secure anything more substantial.

“It’s called not being wasteful, not that ya rockstars care ‘bout things like world hunger”, Blake counters smirking.

“Well, excuse me Mother Teresa”.

The clear sound of giggles reminds both bantering parties of the existence of other people in their vicinity, an ever increasing occurrence for them. It is Gwen and Alicia who laughed, Miranda is just shaking her head fondly exasperated, and Luke is staring someplace gaze unfocused, the effects of the hangover still very much present.

“Oh my god, you guys are terrible”, Gwen says with a snicker.

“It’s like watching a ping-pong match”, Alicia agrees.

Adam has always had class clown status so, where others might get annoyed at being the constant “butt of the joke”, he just rolls with it. Or as he calls it, he isn’t a humorless prick.

“Thanks, thanks. I’ll be here all week”, Adam says cheekily, bowing a teeny bit. However nobody hears him as his comment is swallowed by a loud, sudden explosion coming from inside the principal tent.

The six of them exchange a vaguely alarmed look before heading into the tent. As circus performers they’ve grown used to the noise a cannon makes when “exploding” and catapulting its human contents up in the air. What they’ve also regretfully have accustomed to is these kind of stunts sometimes going awry. Thus prompt help becomes crucial. And if nothing’s happened the better.

Upon entering first thing they see is the smoke of the gunpowder fizzling out from the cannon, a light silver thread. On the opposite side of the ring is a group of four people surrounding a safety net cheerfully conversing with the blonde girl laying on it. Adam, Alicia, Luke, Miranda, Gwen and Blake breathe a sigh of relief. No accidents today.

A moment later their presence in the tent is noted by the other group, and they come over to meet them; which would have occurred earlier were it not for Pharrell staying back to apparently give Miss Myra a detailed account of his life until that point. Finally they’re start gonna working.

Ten feet away from them the human cannonball girl halts, big surprised grayish blue eyes, then she launches herself towards Alicia.

“Ali! It’s so good to see you!” the girl beams wrapping her arms around Alicia, who returns the hug with a warm smile.

“Nice to see you too, Miley. What are you doing here? I thought old Ray still didn’t want to part with his little angel”.

“Ali, don’t embarrass me in front of everyone”, Miley says flushing and rapidly earning a few chuckles from all present. “I’m an adult now, dad can’t tell me what to do anymore”.

“I see that. You make a beautiful woman”, Alicia compliments her.

Miley carefully untangles herself from Alicia’s hold looking conflicted. Adam thinks he knows that gaze, though ultimately he refrains from assuming anything.

“Not to interrupt your heartfelt reunion, but maybe you can introduce us to your friend, Alicia?” he asks instead, a good natured smile setting on his lips.

“We’d also like an introduction”, adds one of the other four performers from Golden, a tall brunette woman. She is specifically admiring Gwen’s figure. Not that the object of her interest appears aware of it anyway, probably a strong mixture of happily married and incompatible orientations.

“You just want blondie’s number”, a short black guy sporting dreadlocks teases the brunette woman. In turn she stares angrily at him, clearly conveying a shut the fuck up, no words required. The man shrugs, amused.

“Wait a second, I know ya”, Blake says out of nowhere turning to Miley, “Ya’re Billie Ray Cyrus’ daughter, THE human cannonball”.

Luke, Miranda and Gwen gasp at the mention of the name, outing themselves as fans of the guy. Adam however remains impassive. He knows who is it they’re talking about, recognizes the talent, but used to work with someone even more remarkable in that area. Riley “The Bullet” Stevenson was heralded as the ultimate human projectile and, same as him, belonged to Casey’s Flowers. A kind, intelligent, hard-working, insanely skilled man; gone far earlier than seems fair.

“Yes, I am. I don’t remember you, have you met my dad?” Miley questions Blake, not quite able to prevent a sliver of annoyance from showing on her face. Celebrity children sure have it rough, he muses. Not his case, fortunately or unfortunately. While he was born in a world famous circus, his mom wasn’t known. Since she started until she retired she was always on the background but never the star, never got top-billing or anything.

“We’re acquaintances. I even saw ya once. Ya were a hyper kid with braces”.

“Is everybody trying to embarrass me today?” Miley hisses exasperated, tapping her foot against the dirt floor and looking decidedly childish. 

“I wasn’t meaning to do that”, Blake shrugs, not impressed by Miley’s reaction. Contrary to what one would expect taking into account Blake’s affable nature, he doesn’t have a high tolerance for bratty kids or teenagers; a category Adam knows Blake is feeling increasingly inclined to put Miley in. Ironic-or hypocritical take your pick- when sometimes the cowboy can be quite childish indeed. He can as well but at least he’ll acknowledge it.

“I had braces too when I was a teen”, Adam offers in an attempt to make the girl more comfortable. Miley smiles at him for a second, but then the dreadlocks dude from before has to share his two cents.

“Doesn’t seem like it was as big a deal to you if you say it so easily, man”, the guy says wryly. It isn’t a mean spirited comment, normally he wouldn’t have a problem with any kind of wit or jive thrown his way –he and Blake do much, much worse daily- , though in this case it only serves to augment the already building awkwardness Adam was intending to dispel. Besides it returns Miley to her previous grumpy state.

“Last I heard being nice isn’t a crime”, he replies tongue in cheek.

“Ah, so you admit it wasn’t as traumatic”.

“Upps”.

“C’mon, stop harassing him”, a black woman with short kinky hair dyed ginger elbows dreadlocks dude playfully; prompting a laugh out of everyone. “How about we introduce ourselves at last? My name is Brandy; I’m a tight-wire walker, nice to meet you”.

“And I’m Suzette, an acrobat. And you are?” the brunette from before says turning to Gwen again. Her smile is plainly seductive; obviously she hasn’t given up just yet.

“Oh, please Suzette, you’re gonna tell me you don’t know her?” dreadlocks dude asks incredulous. “She’s Gwen Stefani; she’s married to Gavin Rossdale, Shrub’s vocalist”.

Gwen grins back, in her eyes equal measures of pride and exhaustion. It is kind of a sore spot for her, she’s told them, as much as she loves her husband she wishes at least occasionally she was recognized on her own merits, for her career, her achievements, and not for who her partner is.

“But our Gwen is a lot more than that. She’s a damn great trapeze artist”, Alicia comes to her friend’s aid. You wouldn’t notice it from her calm tone and mien if you had never spoken to her before, but she is sort of upset with dreadlocks dude’s attitude.

“Of course, I didn’t mean to offend”, the guy in question apologizes incredibly fast, with just the tiniest hint of desperation. Suzette, Brandy, and the remaining yet unnamed member of Golden present, a sturdy blonde woman, all laugh at their partner; it is clear they are used to, anticipate and enjoy his screw-ups. He appears to be the type of person whose mouth, similar to Adam’s, gets him into trouble astoundingly often.

“Careful, man. The ladies at our circus will go ahead and whip ya into form”, Luke finally finds an opening to speak. Good thing he did. From the beginning of the conversation he’s been trying to interject a joke or whatever, and someone else always talked over him. Adam would’ve found it hilarious if it weren’t quite anxiety inducing instead.

“It’s fine, no harm done”, Gwen sentences magnanimous, her smile now natural and radiant.

“Don’t forgive him so easily him”, Miley weighs in smirking and raising an eyebrow at dreadlocks dude, reverting back to her bubbly self, “He’s gonna take advantage of your kindness”.

“No, I’m not”, the man protests.

“Well, I hope ya wouldn’t play the same stunt with me”, Miranda observes, talking for the first time in a while, “’Cause I wouldn’t let ya off the hook just like that”.

“What, are you also married to some celebrity?” dreadlocks dude’s face is a funny blend between a confused squint, as if he’s picking apart his memory to identify her; and a nervous smile brought forth from an intense desire to avoid digging himself deeper into the mud.

“No, but I’m engaged to handsome here and I’m a tamer”, Miranda says walking over to Blake and hugging his arm.

“If ya call me anything close to ‘wifey’, ya might learn how good I am at controlling my beasts”, she adds with a toothy grin.

The guy gulps audibly, his eyes widening as he processes whether Miranda means real harm to him or not. Beside him his partners from Golden all seem ready to pull out the popcorn, wholly entertained by the unfolding events. And maybe Adam is too, knowing this is only Miranda getting a rise out of an unsuspecting-if slightly foolish- victim.

“C’mon now, Ran; don’t frighten him”, Blake halfheartedly-fondly- scolds his fiancée. “Not like ya’d do any of that anyway”.

“Ya sure?” Miranda shrugs as unassuming as she can.

“I’d actually pay money to see that”, Miley shares, a touch overenthusiastic.

“Me too”, Suzette joins in; “A little roughing up would be great for J’amal”.

“I’m not one to judge ladies, but BSDM ain’t my thing”, J’amal says, lips beginning to quirk upwards, having decided his leg is being pulled.

“Don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it”, Adam says with a snort. 

“Adam!” Blake fake gasps at him. “There’re innocent ears here!”

“Easy, Virgin Mary, I’m not the one who brought that up”, he counters.

“It seems like ya/you’ve tried it, though”, Miley and Luke point out in unison. They share a glance apparently finding an-impish- understanding. A shiver runs down his spine; that promises to be a deadly combination. For his part Blake is looking kinda smug that people are “siding” with him. It’s always this way; they have to turn everything into a competition, a friendly one granted, yet a competition all the same.

“I was joking, obviously”, he states.

“Were ya?” Miranda is the next one to tease him.

“Right, ‘cause I really wanted to tell you about my kinks”, he rolls his eyes as he gently shakes his head.

He can almost see the gears in Blake’s mind turning lighting fast to answer what he’s just said; however the man’s plans are thwarted by Brandy speaking first.

“Aren’t you the contortionist from Casey’s Flowers?” she says frowning ever so slightly with the effort to remember. She has been giving him confused glances for a while now, like she recognized him and couldn’t tell from where. Honestly, it was a matter of time before she caught up.

“Used to be”, he admits. Suddenly he feels a pang of longing. As hard as it was sometimes, he misses life at Casey’s circus. Shakira does too. Although never as much as him, which is a no brainer since he grew up there, with that group of bona-fide globetrotters.

“I knew it!” Brandy cheers; glad she hit the nail on the head.

“No wonder your face seemed familiar”, says the still unnamed blonde woman from Golden. They had for a brief moment been introducing themselves until J’amal derailed the process.

“Actually, I was also wondering if you were who I thought you were”, J’amal starts excited, “Adam Levine, juggler and contortionist extraordinaire! The Boneless Psychic!”

Adam cringes upon hearing that old tacky nickname.

“Thanks for the praise, dude”, he attempts to gloss over the last bit.

“The Boneless Psychic?!” Blake cackles obnoxiously. Adam had hoped Cowboy Dan had, for whatever magical overly convenient reason, not heard the embarrassing moniker. As things stand, the guy just gained more ammunition against him. It doesn’t help that everyone apart from Gwen and J’amal is also laughing at his expense.

“Yeah, I’m never letting ya forget that one. Boneless Psychic, talk about stupid”, Blake half declares half laughs.

“I didn’t choose it, the motherfucking papers did”, he protests.

“So?” Blake asks, eyebrow raised, because of course nothing changes the fact the nickname exists, is utterly moronic, and is now out in the open, available for anyone wanting to make fun of him.

“Ok boys, pipe down”, Alicia intervenes, sporting the expression a kindergarten teacher would employ while trying to rein in her most rambunctious students. “We should get to work if we want to have anything ready by tomorrow”.

“But Ali, we didn’t finish the presentations”, Miley objects, “We have to at least know everybody’s names”.

Alicia draws an exasperated breath and nods, accepting defeat. Maybe she wishes she was truly dealing with preschoolers.

“Fine, who’s left?”

Miranda takes her cue. “I’m Miranda Lambert and this is Blake Shelton, we are beast tamers, I think I already mentioned it before”.

“I’m Luke Bryan, professional clown at yar service”, Luke goes next.

“My name is Denise Munro, I’m a strongwoman”, the blonde woman identifies herself once and for all.

“I’m J’amal Dean, better known as the Dragon of the West, the most promising fire breather of this decade”. 

Adam stares at him unimpressed, as does the rest of the group.

Then a brief minute of silence passes by and the realization dawns on Alicia. She hasn’t properly said who she is yet.

“And I-I’m Alicia Keys, a trapeze artist like Gwen”, she says, faintly self-conscious albeit somehow making it plain she expects no more dilly dallying.

Nonetheless, she’s powerless to deter the chuckles that break anew.

“I swear I’m changing teams”, she huffs tiredly.

“Oh, we can’t have that”, Pharrell’s voice emerges out of thin air, effectively startling Adam.

All of them turn to see the man leisurely approaching them.

“Gee, Pharrell, a heads up would’ve been nice”, Blake echoes Adam’s-well the whole party’s- sentiment.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you guys”.

“We thought you were writing Myra your autobiography”, Adam jokes.

“And I thought you lot were practicing already”, Pharrell retorts, grinning, “There was no need to wait for me”.

“We were introducing ourselves Pharrell”, Miley states, headstrong, “You should too”. So she knows him as well; which isn’t strange considering Pharrell has extensive knowledge-and connections- of the who’s who of the circus industry.

“You are right. My name is Pharrell Williams; I’m a magician and one of the owners of The Voice circus. It’ll be my pleasure to work with you”, Pharrell acquiesces.

“Now, let’s begin. Otherwise we’re gonna have a tough time tomorrow”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter but if I didn't just finish it I would be forever stuck on it.  
>  Also Miley's role in the next chapter will be bigger plus we'll dive in a bit into their sexual orientation and gender identity :3.


	16. Venting is good for the soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys sorry for the delay! Hopefully the gap between this chapter and the next will be shorter. Enjoy <3

   “Adam, can we talk?”

 

   Adam lifts his head from the bag of Doritos he’s eaten halfway through. It’s two in the morning and he should be asleep, but excitement induced insomnia has led him to binging junk food under the stars. Granted there aren’t many stars to be seen because pollution here in Las Vegas is almost as bad as L.A.’s; regardless it’s still a pretty night out.

 

   What he comes to is Blake looking quite haggard.

 

   “Sure, cowboy”, Adam pats the blanket he’s sitting on prompting the guy to join him. “Can’t sleep either?”

 

   Blake nods as he lowers himself gingerly beside him. Next he proceeds to hunch over himself and lace his arms around his knees.

 

   Adam raises a worried eyebrow.

 

   “Ok, what’s with the kicked puppy dog eyes? Who died?”

 

   “My relationship with Miranda, that’s what”, his friend mutters bitterly.

 

   Adam splutters.

 

   “Ehh?!! Really?!”

 

   “Why’d I joke ‘bout this?” Blake barks at him, and then retreats to his shell.

 

   Adam feels frozen in place, a million questions swimming in his head and no idea how he should react.

 

   After fiddling his thumbs for five minutes or so, he decides to be direct. No use in trying to be tactful when he’s always been kind of terrible at it.

 

   “How did it happen? Did she dump you?”

 

   Blake visibly shakes at his words and he winces.

 

   “Bullseye?” He asks with a little nervous smile.

 

   “I don’t know in which weird-ass reality ya live, but in this one I would’ve never been the one to break things off”, Blake flicks his finger against Adam’s forehead in mock reprimand, lips twisting upwards because he’s clearly endeared by Adam’s attempt at humor, yet the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

   “Ow!” He complains more as a reflex than out of feeling that much pain, rubbing the abused spot while Blake rolls his eyes. “Was that necessary?”

 

   “If ya’re gonna be such a drama queen about it, yeah it was”, the man’s smile is now more honest, fonder.

 

   Adam doesn’t even pretend to be annoyed by Blake, letting a mirroring warm grin bloom on his face.

 

   “So, do you wanna tell me the details or do you prefer we just hang out?” He says popping a Dorito into his mouth. Sure, Blake sought him to talk, but he won’t pressure his cowboy to speak. The wound must be all dripping and gory; considering how carefree the guy looked throughout Golden’s show, Miranda must have sealed the deal after tonight’s performances. It explains why the couple was missing from the after party.

 

   His friend sighs, shoulders slumping, and nods again.

 

   “When ya think about people splitting up”, Blake muses, “Ya think cheating or someone else coming into the picture, or treating each other like crap”.

 

   A second of pregnant silence follows where Adam tries to guess which of the keep options applies to Blake’s situation.

 

   “Sometimes though, ya just fall out love and nothing ya both do keep ya from failing”.

 

   Adam doesn’t know what to say again. None of his relationships have ended in this manner. To him it seems a bit nice even; of course when taking into account how much worse it could’ve been. In any case he isn’t going to voice these thoughts since the objective here is to comfort Blake not upset him.

 

   “We’d been having problems over a year now, so way before we met Carson and Pharrell”, Blake continues, talking as if he’s attending a funeral, “It was a matter of time, I suppose, for one of us to finally get tired. Ran turned out to be that one”.

 

   “Oh Blake, I’m so sorry”, he says placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder and quips halfheartedly, “I really though you guys would make it. Like, I was waiting for you to ask me to be the best-man at the wedding”.

 

   “Me too”, Blake tells him gazing away at the distance, covering Adam’s hand with his own and squeezing it lightly. As he sneaks a glance at him, he notices tears dropping quietly down Blake’s cheeks. His heart sinks at the sight, a lump catching in his throat. Blake shouldn’t be allowed to look this broken. It shouldn’t be something that happens, it shouldn’t. Adam won’t blame Miranda-she’s his friend and she’s suffering too-, but this is unacceptable.

 

   He subtracts his hand from Blake’s shoulder, and the guy appears betrayed for a split second until he decidedly wraps his arms around him.

 

   Blake is stiff only for a moment, then he hugs back, holding onto Adam like a drowning man. The embrace is a bit constricting but comfortable still, and warm. Warm as Blake’s tears falling on his shirt.

 

                 <3                <3                 <3                   <3                      <3                     <3

 

   In the morning it’s plenty obvious everyone is aware of Miranda and Blake’s breakup. No words about it are uttered, but the furtive glances and awkward behavior are sufficient signs of the knowledge.

 

   When the combined practices with the guys from Golden start, the tension in the atmosphere is palpable. For here comes the problem Adam didn’t predict, even if it kinda is a no brainer. How are the two ex-lovers supposed to work together from now on? Forget long term, this very night the two-as per what they rehearsed yesterday- have to team up. Okay, technically they are a trio counting J’amal, which only makes it worse since the poor man is hereby officially trapped between their aggressively cordial or just plain icy interactions. Adam would offer J’amal to switch, however they are on a tight schedule and Pharrell will therefore deny such a request. Luke-because he’s an asshole- sends J’amal a thumb up for good luck and the man flips the bird back at him.

 

   Luckily for everybody, Miley is having none of this tense shit so, as well as practice, she occupies her time talking to and poking fun at those around her. The real godsend here is that she sort of fixates on Blake, his increased grumpiness turning him into the perfect victim for the annoying little sister type as she is.

 

   All in all, they get through rehearsals without incidents.

 

        <3                <3                 <3                    <3                   <3                       <3

 

   It’s 4:20 pm and Adam is exiting the principal tent after a final practice with Brandy-who is his pair for the show- thinking he’s going to relax for a couple a few hours, when he’s intercepted by a visibly worried Alicia.

 

   “Hey, Adam, have you seen Miley?” she asks.

 

   “Not since lunch, no. Why?”

 

   “I just gotta talk to her”, Alicia replies a tad too quickly, the frown on her face growing more pronounced. “Thanks, I’ll keep looking”.

 

   “Wait”, he says as she begins to march away, “Is something wrong?”

 

   Part of him-the sensible part- is wondering why in the nine hells is he again being quite the exemplary busybody, it’s bothersome to other people and never earned him anything but trouble.

 

   Alicia stops and hesitates a little before speaking.

 

   “It’s nothing big, really. Miley’s been avoiding me today; I mean I think she is. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I’ll know when I find her”.

 

   Then she leaves, carrying her nervousness with her. It is a rare sight for Alicia to lose her cool. Guess she cares a lot for Miley.  Also she totally avoided his attempt at meddling; the sensible side of his brain is impressed.

 

   With nothing else to do there he decides to go back to the men’s trailer and perhaps take a nap. Nevertheless, as he enters said trailer he discovers a peculiar scene playing out. Rather, this is going to turn into a headache in three, two, one:

 

   “Ahhh!” Blake screams, startled awake from where he was laying on the couch by Miley throwing cold water at his face.

 

   Of course the first thing Blake zeroes in after he recovers from his bewilderment is Miley laughing her ass off at him, and his eyes fill with fury.

 

   “Ya brat, I’m gonna kill ya!” Blake threatens rising to his feet, hands balled in fists.

 

   Miley just laughs louder in response, surely this is the effect she was hoping her prank would have.

 

   “Ehem”, Adam coughs so the two know he’s there. Minutes ago he was ready to poke his nose into other people’s business; as matters stand, he’s going to get what he bargained for. Or maybe he won’t, if he gets the girl to go to Alicia.

 

   Both Miley and Blake turn to look at him.

 

   “Hey guys”, he gives them a little wave.

 

   “Adam, can ya tell her to stop bothering me?” Blake starts, wanting his help to put Miley in her place, “I’ve been telling her to fuck off all day and she won’t listen”.

 

   “Miley, Alicia’s been searching for you”, he says, ignoring Blake’s rant.

 

   Miley’s face falls instantly.

 

   “Okay”, she acknowledges the news averting her eyes and making no move to go find her friend.

 

   Adam sighs. He’s really gonna do this, isn’t he?

 

   “You two take a seat; I’mma make some coffee”.

 

   “Why?” Blake questions, befuddled, his anger almost faded.

 

   “Bonding time”, he replies while he closes the door. Miley’s already sat on the couch, gaze downcast and arms on her lap.

 

   “Why?” Blake repeats, and he looks so much like a confused dog he cannot help but grin.

 

   “Blame your luck”, he says patting Blake’s arm. After he heads to the kitchen space of the trailer and rummages for ground coffee mix in the cupboard to put in the pot. Adam leans against the countertop waiting for the beverage to be done, hearing the whir of the machine as it works. He rubs his temples lightly, trying to ward off an imminent headache. There are situations where you need alcohol to get through shit, and moments-such as this- where coffee becomes your salvation.

 

   “Miley, how do you take your coffee?”

 

   “With a bit of milk and two spoons of sugar”, is the tentative answer he receives.

 

   “Aren’t ya gonna ask how I want it?” Blake demands half joking half offended they’re not paying attention to him.

 

   “Lemme guess, a dash of whiskey for good measure?” Adam rolls his eyes. “Pity, but I need you sober right now”.

 

   “Fine”, Blake grumbles, resigned to whatever this will be.

 

   Once the coffee is ready Adam pulls out three little mugs from the cupboard and pours the hot comforting liquid in them. He also fetches three spoons and prepares all cups to the liking of each person- well, more or less, since Blake wanted to spike up his and he’s getting straight black coffee-. Next he goes to the couch and hands Blake and Miley their mugs and spoons, coming to sit on the girl’s left.

 

   “What’s wrong? Why are you avoiding Alicia?” Adam prompts, blowing air cover his steaming cup.

 

   His words have Miley flinching, but she recovers quickly.

 

   “That’s none of your business”, she states curtly.

 

   “Then, can I tell Alicia you’re here?” he bounces right back.

 

   “Do whatever the hell you want, I won’t be here when she comes”, Miley shrugs her shoulders, going for nonchalance-and failing miserably-.

 

   “So you _are_ avoiding her”.

 

   Miley cringes and Blake has the gall to emit a smug chuckle. Unbelievable.

 

   “You’re such a shining beacon of maturity dude, you astound me sometimes”.

 

   “Thanks; I know I’m one of a kind”, Blake says obnoxiously.

 

   “Yeah, more like one kind of idiot”, he jives and Miley sniggers beside him.

 

   “Pot meet kettle”, Blake retorts without missing a beat.

 

   This banter is so natural to them, so comfortable; and so distracting. It’s weird. Adam is not used to something other than his job grabbing his attention quite as quickly and thoroughly; usually his brain is focusing on anything and everything for wildly varying periods of time depending on its fancy. Regardless, he’s not letting Blake derail the conversation because he’s a bit pissed. Alright that’s not true, the guy is fucking devastated due to his breakup and Miley probably seems like yet another problem. But the fool doesn’t see she only wants to be his friend; seriously, it’s as if the man never had a sibling-even with Ricky out of the picture he still has a sister-. Adam sighs again; maybe dragging Blake into this was a mistake.

 

   “Back to topic”, he says carefully taking a sip from his drink, “Miley, we might be just acquaintances but, if you’re having trouble you can tell us”.

 

   “Us?” Blake says like helping your fellow human beings is outrageous.

 

   “Got it, only me. Blake’s here as moral support, or a witness or a really deformed rock, you pick”.

 

   “Hey! I’m not deformed!”

 

   “It’s okay, Sasquatch; I love you for what’s inside”.

 

   “Ya lil’ shit”, Blake curses, though there’s no heat in it as a grin appears on his mouth.

 

   Adam sticks his tongue at him with the distinct sensation he’s forgetting something bugging his mind.

 

   The clear sound of Miley’s laughter is the clue he needs. Blake distracted him once more. Damnit, his resolution lasted three seconds.

 

   “You two are hilarious”, Miley says as she regains her composure.

 

   “Glad we could lighten your mood”, Adam smiles at her.

 

   For his part Blake doesn’t speak, too busy attempting to sneak up to go spike his beverage. Fine, he decides, the guy’s grieving, he’ll allow it.

 

   While Blake is on the kitchen area turning his coffee into coffee flavored whiskey, Miley plays with the mug in her hands, which she has yet to drink from. At last she mutters, in the manner one does when breaching a dreaded subject:

 

   “There’s something important I gotta tell Alicia, but I’m afraid to disappoint her”.

 

   Miley’s brow is furrowed; in her eyes both worry and fear. Oh boy is Adam familiar with that feeling.

 

   “As far as I’ve seen, Alicia cares about you. I don’t believe anything you say will change her opinion of you”, he tries to calm her smiling softly. At the same time Blake returns, settling down on his left and stirring the dark liquid inside his cup with a spoon; it reeks of alcohol.

 

   “I guess”, Miley agrees reluctantly. To avoid more talking she takes a gulp of her mug; the surprised appreciative sound she makes warms his heart. He patiently waits for what’s next to fall of the girl’s lips.

 

  “How do you break it to the people you love you aren’t who everyone wants you to be?” Miley ponders a tad melancholic. “Is there a right way and moment?”

 

   “Um”, Adam scratches the back of his neck, “There’s no perfect time to do it, but you should feel ready to share this part of yourself with others”.

 

   “Brandy said the same thing. She’s been really nice to me since I arrived”, Miley adds, a faint blush crossing her cheeks. Interesting.

 

   “Great minds think alike”.

 

   “Don’t insult Brandy”, Blake interjects with a wry grin, “Just ‘cause ya had common sense for once”.

 

   “Shut your trap, Shelton. We’re having a serious discussion here”, Adam reprimands him.

 

   In turn Blake shrugs and refocuses on his “coffee”. The headache Adam was praying against is beginning to manifest.

 

   “Interruptions aside”, he gives a pointed glare to Blake, “Like I said before, if you aren’t ready you don’t have to tell Alicia anything”.

 

   “The problem is I want to”, Miley says pressing her lips into a firm line.

 

   “Then go tell her. All this avoiding is only making her worry”.

 

   “It’s not that easy”, Miley protests.

 

   “Speaking from experience, yes it is”.

 

   The girl perks up at his admission.

 

   “Don’t ya see she’s scared rockstar? Not everyone can be out and proud like ya”, Blake points out semi jokingly –after all this talk about coming out has to remind him of his brother-. Good thing is Blake has finally found his maturity and stopped being a sourpuss to Miley; on the other hand part of his comment was indeed really ironic considering the guy’s straight.

 

   “Gee, dude, I’d never heard of what you’re saying. Your ideas are too complex for my poor stupid brain”, Adam’s sarcasm could kill a baby elephant.

 

   “It’s okay, admitting it is the first step”, Blake, the jackass, responds as he takes a big gulp of his drink.

 

   “I hope you choke”, he says while obviously looking angrily dignified and not at all like he’s sulking.

 

   “I love ya too”, Blake chuckles patting Adam’s knee; he swats the man’s hand away.

 

   “Umm, actually”, Miley raises her voice to draw their attention. “I’d rather y’all not use the ‘she’ pronoun for me”.

 

   Both of them stare at her bemusedly. This is a bit of a curveball, he must confess. Miley’s back is straight and she has a strong resolution to her expression.

 

   “What do you mean?” Adam snaps out of his surprise first.

 

   Miley inhales deeply.

 

   “Ever since I was a kid I didn’t fully feel I was a girl. Some girl things felt right for me, others weren’t. But being just a guy isn’t me either. It took me a long time to realize I had another choice; that I didn’t have to pick between being a guy or a girl. I found out there are people who identify as genderfluid, which means they identify as men sometimes and sometimes as women, or as both. And I thought this is exactly how I feel. I am genderfluid”, Miley explains, words slurring slightly due to nerves.

 

   Were this the first time instance he hears from such a concept, he’d be reacting similarly to Blake, who is regarding Miley like an alien specimen; thankfully being part of “Casey’s Flowers” had allowed him contact with all sorts of individuals.

 

   “So, how _should_ we address you?” Adam inquires gently.

 

   “As ‘they’”, Miley answers steadily yet her eyes convey a certain insecurity, an insecurity born from having been denied before.

 

   “Isn’t ‘they’ plural?” Blake recovers, almost all the shock leaving his mien.

 

   “No, it can also be used as singular neutral”, Miley states.

 

   “Oh, okay”, Blake says, easily accepting the fact which seems to throw Miley off a bit.

 

   “You were expecting different reactions, weren’t you?” Adam knows they did-especially from Blake who is only now starting to mellow out towards them- above everything else because they all are virtual strangers.

 

   It begs the question if they have told their family these news and how said family received it.

 

   “Yeah, kinda”, Miley’s smile is a little weak but a little grateful too.

 

   “I don’t blame you. Coming out is always a gamble”. He’s definitely reminded of a younger version of himself when he gazes at them.

 

   “Shit, does that mean it doesn’t get any easier?”

 

   “No, no, it does; though the nerves never go”.

 

   “Awesome”, Miley puff out imagining the hurdles that lie ahead of them, and he snorts.

 

   The very next moment Adam is being robbed of his mug by Blake, who finished his own and left it on the coffee table without anyone noticing. He doesn’t even try to stop him, having already welcomed the cowboy tasting-aka stealing- his drinks as one of the many inevitabilities of life. Instead he does the patented “I’m friends with this dork” eye roll.

 

   “Should I be worried for my coffee?” Miley says, vaguely amused.

 

   “Nah, this is a me thing only”, he waves off.

 

   “Adam has surprisingly good taste”, Blake remarks, making a show of sipping from Adam’s former cup.

 

   Both he and Miley burst out in laughter.

 

   “What is Adam, food?” Miley cackles.

 

   “The Big Foot is a carnivorous creature after all”, he quips while wheezing.

 

   “Idiots”, Blake groans, however it’s halfhearted at best and soon he’s chuckling as well.

 

   “Honestly, though, we’re lucky Luke’s not here, ‘cause your comment would’ve totally fueled his fire, Shelton”, Adam says after the laughing’s died down.

 

   Blake grimaces, memories of Luke’s teasing flashing through his eyes.

 

   “Why’s that?” Miley asks sounding disturbingly interested. It appears the annoying little sibling is rearing their head again.

 

   “Oh no, not gonna hand you any ammunition, thank you very much”, he sentences as he picks the empty cups-Blake has just finished Adam’s coffee- and takes them to the sink. “We’re done talking now”.

 

   “Buh! You’re no fun”, Miley complains.

 

   “Yup, better safe than sorry”, Blake agrees with him to piss Miley off further. It works; Miley glowers at Blake and gets up, making a bee line for the trailer door. Upon placing their hand on the doorknob they turn around:

 

   “Thanks for listening”.

 

   “Anytime”, Adam voices warmly. From the couch Blake nods his head like a stern father who loves his children but is woefully bad at communication.

 

   Then, they’re gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing dialogue at 2 am makes your brain come up with shit like Blake saying Adam surprisingly tastes good without it really being an innuendo. But then again it totally is and what is my life folks XD? These dorks have ruined me I tell ya.


	17. Show Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I'm so very sorry for the lateness folks ;-; ! College has been eating up my lifeforce progressively as the end of the year nears.  
> And this is a bit shorter than usual too, sigh.  
> Also, I've kind of bad news, I'm going to put this fic on a short hiatus while I work into something else. Hopefully my other project will flow smoothly enough you won't miss this fic for long. Then again, this one never saw many frequent updates anyway, so maybe not much will change.
> 
> In any case, enjoy folks ^3^.

   For once their act has more or less of a plot. A con selling trinkets as quality goods tries to scam a wizard he comes across. Of course the wizard catches wise and punishes the treacherous man by sending him to another world where he must face great peril if he wants to return home. Such peril includes escaping the Ogres fiery temper and facing the callous Harpies challenge. It’s a simple but effective plot that allows them to display their abilities really well. Adam sighs wistfully, reminded of his times at Casey’s.

 

  Darkness cloaks the principal tent in order to set the mood for the show. From one of the towers together with Alicia and Suzette he hears the excited rumble of the restless crowd below. Adam’s pretty pumped too, since this is the first time in a long while he’s going to get up on the wire.

 

      Suddenly, a lone spotlight is shone by the side of the ring, illuminating the figures of Carson and Myra.

 

   “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to The Fantastic Golden Circus of Las Vegas!” the woman hollers, her voice amplified by a microphone. “My name is Miss Myra, owner of this fine company and your ringmaster for the night! Here beside me is Carson Daly, he’s the ringmaster of The Extraordinary Voice Circus, who’ve kindly decided to join us tonight and tomorrow for two spectacles the likes of which the world has never seen!”

 

  “It is my pleasure, Myra and dear guests to join you!” Carson bows with a flourish.

 

    “Now, let us present to you ‘The Tale of The Conniving Merchant’!” Myra and Carson proclaim in unison.

 

   Dim blue lights break through the dark, casting an almost magical glow over the stage. In the center of it stands Luke, who’s playing the lead character. Unlike usual he’s wearing a Pierrot costume and makeup, except for the big red nose he always sports which signals the true nature of the sly merchant behind his apparently serious exterior.

 

   The show starts with a gag where Luke scams several people dressed all in black with masks on their faces. Adam can’t see the sketch really well from up high but he has witnessed it during practice so he knows more or less how it goes, plus he gets the rest from the little dialogue spoken. People being sold supposed gold items that turn out to be spray painted; someone purchasing a “leather” suitcase that crumples under the weight of the owner’s possessions because it’s made of cardboard; another person ending up with a pillow stuffed with newspaper rather than feathers. All customers are positively infuriated upon discovering the hoax but their attempts to do something about it prove hilariously futile.

 

   Then, Pharrell appears dressed in a sparkly cobalt blue tux you’d see from miles away and a top hat, distinctly lacking a cape. He asks Luke for a coat and the clown hands him a black one. Again Adam knows more than sees the cape has glaring holes patched with black paper. Pharrell “discovers” the trick and is thus enraged. He produces a wand from his top hat and proceeds to wave it around “freezing” Luke in place. An assistant clad in a long silver gown makes her entrance pushing a human sized box where she and Pharrell lock Luke in.

 

   Next Pharrell extends his hand over his wand “transforming” it into a sword, which he thrusts into near the middle of the box, supposedly close to where Luke’s heart would be. The audience lets out a horrified gasp. In rapid succession Pharrell pulls more swords out of his hat and stabs Luke with the five of them. Adam chuckles before the increasing trepidation of the crowd. There’s a certain power in affecting others, an appeal in knowing you can get people to feel what you want them to. Sure, this isn’t a nice sentiment necessarily but many times it is a driving force for performers and, as long as you don’t become a manipulative bitch or an egotistical asshole or both, everything’s fine.

 

   All the ruckus calms down once the assistant opens the door of the box showing Luke’s unharmed body. After she closes the door again, she hands Pharrell one end of a long saw and they apply themselves to cutting the box in three. Luke-the great ham- seems to have had enough because he starts pleading for the pair to stop; however he’s thoroughly ignored. No matter the man’s protests he’s carefully divided and his parts scrambled and lined up vertically or horizontally to entertain the audience. The most hilarious moment has to be when they are throwing Luke’s head around like a baseball while the clown alternates between complaints, pg. appropriate curses, and terrified screams.

 

   At last this particular playtime is finished and Luke is allowed to “dizzily” stumble out of the box. He can’t catch a break though-of course he’s not supposed to-, because Pharrell flicks his wand apparently provoking a red mist to cloud the stage. The magician’s voice announces in a dramatic tone that Luke’s offenses are not yet pardoned and welcomes him to a new world of dangers. Soon as the sentence is uttered the haze begins to disappear. It takes a little while for the stage to become visible again, but once the cost is clear Adam sees the expected metal hoops aligned around the circumference of the ring. Right in the middle is Luke, facing the apparition of Blake and Miranda clad in fake fur garments, plastic metallic horns and prop clubs. If having the couple perform together so promptly after their breakup is certainly a bit unfortunate-or nerve-wrecking to Adam- at least their parts as Ogres will permit the anger, resentment and coldness that manage to seep through their act towards each other to be perceived as fitting instead of jarring.

 

   At the signal of Blake’s whistle three lions and two panthers enter from behind the curtains. The animals come to stop in front of them, peacefully awaiting the next order. Now it’s Miranda who whistles three times-producing three quick bursts of sound instead of Blake’s prolonged one- and the felines start to jump orderly through the hoops.

 

   The audience breaks in applause once more; this trick is definitely a crowd favorite. After seven of eight laps the animals are brought to a halt.

 

   J’amal makes his entrance then, spitting out fire that looks weirdly distorted from above. He joins Blake and Miranda for a second and goes on to set all the hoops on fire. A flaming prison has thus been created for Luke. Not to mention the lions and panthers turning to growl threateningly at the man at the request of their masters. J’amal also takes to directing fire in Luke’s direction.

 

   When the tension gets to be too heavy and it appears the clown is “done for”, the man escapes towards one of the towers as fast as he is able, chased a second later by the felines and J’amal’s flames. Luke successfully gets out of danger, poking fun at the Ogres as he climbs.

 

   Well, well, would you look at that? It’s time for the Harpies to enter the scene. They are all dressed in brightly colored spandex jumpsuits, shining in hues of blue to depict the affinity for the sky of the creatures they represent.

 

   Beside Adam, Suzette and Alicia grab onto their trapezes firmly and step forward. Across them in the other tower, Gwen does that too. The three women share a little nod and plunge.

 

   Before they meet in the middle Gwen lets go of her trapeze, swinging herself to Alicia and Suzette who catch her by wrapping their hands around her forearms. The crowd cheers, but what really takes their breath away is when, after two swings to gain momentum, Alicia and Suzette release Gwen’s arms so she can return to her trapeze with a spin over herself.

 

   Then Gwen hoists herself up and places her feet on the bar. In the next swing Alicia jumps and grabs onto Gwen’s trapeze, flying back as the following swing arrives. Suzette does the very same thing; all three of them moving with the gracefulness and agility of a bird.

 

   Having come to the end of their act, Gwen joins her partners and they salute the audience. Adam even hears some wolf whistles directed at the women.

 

    At this point Luke has already climbed the tower and is waiting next to Brandy for his cue. First is hers and Adam’s turn, though.

 

   Adam breathes in deeply, savoring the feeling of exhilaration coursing through his veins. With a confident smile plastered to his face he sets foot on the wire. It has been a while since he’s last done this so the soles of his feet have lost some of the calluses you get from rope burn. But the pain is minimal and familiar enough he ignores it easily.

 

   Brandy and Adam walk slowly to the middle, arms outstretched. Upon arriving they clasp hands and help each other change fronts.

 

   “Boom!”

 

   An explosion goes off and Adam and Brandy make two swift backflips to leave an open space for Miley, who shoots past the middle of the wire and down the other side to finally be welcomed into the firm embrace of a safety net.

 

   Like the calm preceding a storm, the public is mute with wonderment before their applause becomes a full out roar. The din is a bit too much for Adam’s ears, and he has to tune out the desire to cover them. Instead he revels in the adrenaline added to the sensation of triumph executing a dangerous stunt perfectly always brings him.

 

   Now it is time for Luke to reappear in scene, so Adam and Brandy fetch him from the tower, carrying him on a plastic chair to the center. As they place the chair down the clown tenses due to the incoming stunt. This happened in all the rehearsals, and one cannot blame the guy because he’s never done these sorts of acts in the past. Nonetheless Luke is being a great sport about it, trusting them to pull through despite his worries.

 

   “We’re almost there”, Adam whispers to the guy reassuringly.

 

   Luke gives him half a smile, his hands gripping his knees tightly.

 

   It seems that if the man could close his eyes and pray for his life, he’d be doing it right this moment; which may actually be happening.

 

   On the count of three Brandy and Adam hold onto the arms of the chair to do mirroring handstands. The chair barely mover under their added weight, even as they release one hand to support themselves on just one, and then switch hands back and forth a couple times. Of course the real weak link here is Luke with his tension and nerves. The look he has when Adam and Brandy exchange handshakes with their free extremities is priceless, like he can’t believe they can be anywhere close to relaxed in such conditions.

 

   Once they’ve finished saluting, they perform one last feat of elasticity. Brandy’s legs part until her body is forming a T. Whereas Adam bends his spine so his feet are also resting on the arm of the chair, bracketed by his hands. They retain these positions for a few minutes before lowering themselves smoothly back on the wire; a choir of cheers accompanying their descent.

 

   Luke gulps audibly, once more dreading his near future. Both Adam and Brandy grin mischievously at the man. Then they are tipping the chair forward ensuring Luke drops to his “death”. Luke is careful to immediately turn himself around so he doesn’t receive any damage when he lands on the black cloth held by Denise-who sustained a truly inconvenient injury during practice and saw herself reduced to support while she heals- and the rest of performers.

 

   This time the applause is gloriously deafening; Adam would gladly suffer through it forever.


	18. What a friend does

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all gotta thank KSHillbilly for their lovely comment that motivated me to post this. It's a little short but enjoy ^_^ !

   Adam sighs and shifts the plate of cake he’s holding from one hand to another. Some feet ahead of him, sitting on thin grass, is his target. Miranda appears astoundingly calm, gaze lost in the night-sky. However, her white-knuckled grip on a vodka bottle speaks of a profound restlessness.

 

   He doesn’t like this one bit. Vulnerable Miranda is strictly off of the list of things he ever wants to see. Once was plenty enough. Then why is he here where he _knows_ the woman is putting her hurt out in the open? It’s as simple as he’s her friend. Friends don’t leave friends alone in times of need. So he’ll offer his help to Miranda, at the very least a shoulder to cry onto.

 

   “Hey”, he says, trying to catch her attention, “I’ve been looking for you”.

 

   Miranda raises her chin, eyes glossy with alcohol.

 

   “Really?” she voices, surprised, and a little wary.

 

   “Mhm. You were gone from the after party before I could find you”. Adam’s dropping the runarounds this conversation.

 

   Miranda locks eyes with him for five uncomfortable seconds. The loud chirping of a cricket is all that can be heard.

 

   “I didn’t expect it”, Miranda says at last.

 

   “What?”

 

   “Thought ya were gonna side with Blake”, she explains deadpan, like it is obvious.

 

   “You’re my friend too, you know”, Adam can’t help the defensive tone that colors his words.

 

   “Right, sorry”, Miranda chuckles humorlessly and gestures for him to join her on the ground. “Guess I’m used to always being the bad guy”.

 

   Ah, there it is; the gut-punch at seeing again such an amazing, strong woman so broken and tiny. Only now the cracks in her armor can be witnessed more clearly than in their last heart to heart.

 

   “No one’s saying you’re at fault here”, Adam states gently while lowering himself beside her. The plate of cake ends up balancing on his right thigh, leaving his other leg free to bounce or shake like it usually does.

 

   “But they will, soon as they find out I dumped Blake. I’m not dumb, Adam; I know people say I got him whipped. That I’m a nagging bitch, all ‘cause I take no shit from anybody”, Miranda says bitterly. She draws a long swig of her bottle, downing almost half its contents.

 

   Adam can’t contest that assertion as much as he despises its truthfulness. Instead he asks:

 

   “Why did you break up with him?”

 

   Miranda splutters at his directness, clear droplets falling on her clothed legs and eyes bulging out slightly in astonishment.

 

   “Ya sure don’t mince words”, she remarks once she’s recovered, and wipes at her spit and alcohol stained tights without much result.

 

   “What’s new?” he allows himself a little snort. “If you don’t wanna talk we can skip to the drinking ourselves to sleep part of the night”, Adam adds soberly.

 

   “Already beat ya to it”, Miranda arches an eyebrow and raises the bottle in the air.

 

   “Company always makes things better”, he insists.

 

   The woman lets out a deep suffering sigh. She seems to be summoning strength to go through her current predicament.

 

 

   “Simply put, I didn’t want us to come to hate each other”, Miranda confesses, voice frail as he’s ever heard it.

 

   Adam nods in understanding, his heart growing heavier. Suddenly even the lone cricket goes quiet. The silence that follows is thick like a fog curling around them.

 

   Nonetheless, as everything must one day, it fades.

 

   “Well, let’s go back”, Miranda rises to her feet, an unnaturally cheerful smile on her lips, “But I have to warn ya, I’m gonna get blind drunk”.

 

   There’s still an abysmal amount of hurt in her, and also remembering Blake’s grief-stricken mien, Adam severely wishes he could kick the butt of whichever fucking God designed his friends’ fate. Aloud he answers:

 

   “Just your luck; I’m stupidly used to caring for drunkards”.

 

   <3       <3        <3       <3        <3        <3

 

   By 5:15 am Miranda’s done well on her promise, and Adam has to carry her to the women’s trailer. He opens the door with relative ease, avoiding common pitfalls of drunkard handling such as permitting the lax members of the person in question to hit against the doorframe or walls. No objects are knocked of place and/or broken on their way to the woman’s bunk bed either. The problem comes when he tries to get her to lie down. Oh, her body makes contact with the mattress alright-except for her feet which hang off mere inches from the floor-. Miranda’s arms, however, are glued to Adam’s neck like an octopus; no matter what he does she doesn’t relent in her grip. Fuck it, he thinks, I’m exhausted. So he allows her to use him as a teddy-bear. After mere seconds they are both snoring peacefully.

 

   A while later-perhaps half an hour- Adam barely opens sleepy eyes to the feel of Carrie mercifully laying a blanket over them. She smiles at him, her lips forming words he can’t piece together because the land of dreams claims him anew.

 

   <3      <3       <3        <3        <3         <3

 

   Morning arrives and Adam is nursing a dreadful headache with a mug of dark, dark coffee. This isn’t a hangover, he knows. This is a “your idiotic ass still sucks at self-care” kinda business. Whatever. He begins rubbing his temples in small circles for some measure of comfort.

 

   “Good morning, sleepyhead”, Shakira pats his arm in greeting, taking a seat next to him.

 

   “Why are you so happy this early in the morning?” he replies blinking at her as one would do looking at the sun.

 

   “It’s past eleven”, she chides him playfully.

 

   “Ugh”, Adam groans.

 

   “You drank too much yesterday, I see”.

 

   “In a way”, he mutters and takes a gulp of coffee. Shakira is right of course, the almost deserted state of the cafeteria proves it’s a bit tardy for breakfast.

 

   “Shouldn’t you be in rehearsals?” he asks, feeling five percent more awake.

 

   “We’re on a twenty minutes rest”, she answers brightly.

 

   “Where’s…” he starts but the person he was gonna inquire about appears that exact moment, two plastic cups in hand.

 

   “Hi man”, Usher says and hands Shakira her drink, “You look terrible”.

 

   “So do you”, Adam retorts with a little grin.

 

   Usher shrugs, sitting in front of his girlfriend. They always do this since it facilitates holding hands and gazing at each other in the mushiest of manners, which is what the obnoxiously happy couple prefers. In any case, though Adam may complain, the truth is he’s thrilled for them.

 

   “You didn’t return to the trailer last night, dude”, Usher comments amused, “Finally got lucky?”

 

   Adam’s headache flares as if on cue, and he doesn’t have the energy or will to share a detailed account of the whole affair; instead he opts for shaking his head.

 

   “As usual, you’re no fun”, Usher sentences disappointed.

 

   In response Adam rolls his eyes.

 

   “Blake, over here!” Shakira waves at the man, who’s got a big mug himself. The guy approaches their table with his trademark good-natured smile in full force.

 

   “Morning y’all”, Blake salutes picking the chair on Adam’s free side.

 

   “I can’t believe you look so fresh with all you had yesterday”, Usher tells Blake and chuckles, “I’m only awake thanks to the powers of Speed”.

 

   “Praise be it”, Blake laughs as well, raising his mug, “Lord knows I am”.

 

   “Damn straight”, Usher agrees, sipping his drink contentedly.

 

   Well, Blake is a big fucking liar, Adam thinks, the mug may have a lid yet a whiff of alcohol just attacked his nostrils. The cowboy is drinking a heck of a lot and that is _not_ good. This is distressing his already frayed nerves further.

 

   “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fun and games, but we have a show tonight Ush. You could’ve controlled yourself”, Shakira glares at her boyfriend.

 

   “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll be in top shape for the night”, Usher soothes her.

 

   “You better be”, she admonishes, visibly frustrated by her partner’s carefree attitude.

 

   Adam limits himself to observing the trio’s interactions, too tired now for small talk.

 

   Out of nowhere Blake’s hand lands on his knee, startling him.

 

   “Are ya okay, buddy?” Blake asks, his eyes laced with concern.

 

   He nods, never liking it when he worries others.

 

   “Ya sure? Ya’re looking about ready to faint”, Blake’s frown deepens.

 

   “I’m fine”, he manages, yet he sounds unconvincing even to his own ears.

 

   “Blake’s right, you’re awfully pale”, Shakira also turns to him.

 

   “Did you take anything for the hangover?” Usher adds himself to Concern Squad.

 

   “Yes”, he lies through his teeth, “As I said, I’m fine”. Inside his mind a hysterical voice laughs maniacally at his utter lack of self-preservation skills.

 

   Blake gives him a resolute “don’t bullshit me” glance and snakes his arm around Adam’s shoulders to hold him by the waist and hoist him up. The sudden movement provokes a wave of nausea to course through him, so he clings to Blake’s side for support.

 

   “I fuckin’ knew it”, the cowboy grumbles under his breath.

 

   With the fight drained out of him, Adam lets Blake escort him away, probably to the men’s trailer. As they exit the cafeteria, all Adam’s hazy brain can concentrate on is the sturdy feel of Blake’s chest and his hand searing on his waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays to all who celebrate<3 !


End file.
